


Into the Viper's Nest

by captivated_prince (CynicalMistrust), tsunkiku



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Innuendo, M/M, Pedophilia mention, Plotty, RP, Rape/Non-con Elements, So much angst, Veiled flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-10-31 05:50:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10893021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynicalMistrust/pseuds/captivated_prince, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsunkiku/pseuds/tsunkiku
Summary: The Battle of Marlas never took place. Instead, a truce is forged between Akielon and Vere, though there are those who still seek to disrupt the peace and claim power for themselves. A new plot is hatched, one that seeks to destroy the alliance once and for all, when the Akielon Prince arrives to solidify the truce between their kingdoms.~Indefinitely discontinued~





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fudged ages:  
> Auguste and Damen - around 19  
> Laurent - 15  
> Aimeric - 16
> 
> Basically a cleaned up RP between myself and tsunkiku ^^; Posting here since I don't have a CP blog / pseud yet (and y'all should go read CP)

Auguste stood beside his father's throne as he watched the proceedings, as he had the past two hours. Or was it three now? He shifted minutely, easing a strain in his calf from standing still so long, and breathed an inaudible sigh of relief as he saw the end in sight. He'd be glad when the damn Akielon prince finally arrived and he'd have some kind of relief from these plays for power disguised as good will for their neighboring kingdom. At least plays for power within the court he was used to. He glanced to the gathered crowds, unsurprised to see his brother lingering, taking note of who came as his quick mind worked out what their plays truly were. He straightened as the last of those who'd come today approached the throne, eyes catching on a noble's son who managed to hold his attention more than a few seconds.

-

He was nervous. The feeling coiled in his stomach, uncomfortable, snaking upwards to seize his throat. So far, he'd managed admirably, at least as far as he could tell. The nobles he'd spoke to so far hadn't seemed offended, anyway, by what was surely fumbled attempts at courtly manners. But Aimeric knew that what they said to his face mattered very little.  _ They think I'm a provincial idiot. A good quarter just wanted to fuck me.  _ The thought made his stomach turn. Aimeric only had eyes for one man, and he was standing in the small entourage next to the throne, unreachable, until now.

Aimeric stepped forward when he was called, walking toward the steps and presenting himself in the typical Veretian fashion. "I am Aimeric of Fortaine. I've come to beg leave of you to visit". The meaning was left unspoken, it didn't need to be clarified. They were all here for the Akielon.

-

Auguste watched the approach with more interest than he probably should have, considering, but the mention of Fortaine stirred some interest. It wasn't often they had visits from the outlying areas, though he knew his uncle had made visits to Fortaine before. He had to refrain from motioning Aimeric closer, filing his name away almost against his will, though he told himself it was simply habit; something expected of a Prince - to know those who lived in his kingdom as best as he could.

He breathed another sigh of relief when it was over and he was allowed to take his leave. There'd be feasting soon, though he had half a mind to slip away, find his horse and enjoy a ride in what little light was left of the day.

-

It was only when Aimeric found himself safely out in the gardens that he found himself able to take a breath. A few twists and turns, performances of familiarity with nobles and pets whom he had met moments before, and in the end he had managed to find the one place that seemed deserted. At least, for now. The dying sun was beginning to bleed out its colour across the sky. A few hours and night would fall, and then the feast.

Aimeric sighed loudly, sitting down onto the small bench heavily. At least it was pretty here. Everything in the palace was so ornate, so contrived. He had tried to look the part. Dressed in his finest shirt and breeches, tall leather boots, one side of his hair weaved artfully back from his face. Had it made a difference? Had he looked at him at all? Aimeric felt his chest squeeze tight, staring at the tiny fountain before him. No, he hadn't even looked twice. Too busy with that pet of his. Aimeric had expected it, but not expected just how much it would hurt.

-

Auguste intended to escape the stables, but he never quite made it out, accosted by the new faces and nobles who insisted on trying to speak with their Prince while they were in the palace. By the time he escaped the throne room, the sun had set, and he'd be lucky to enjoy even a few minutes of peace in the gardens before he was expected at the feast. It was times like these he almost envied his brother the ability to slip away unnoticed.

He reached the fountain and let out a long breath, stretching his arms over his head and working out a kink in his neck, almost to the point of relaxing before he realised he wasn't alone. He blinked as he recognised Aimeric in the lengthening shadows, taking in his appearance, the weave of his hair, for once finding words failed him.

-

Aimeric had lingered there a long while, fingers curling into the dark strands of his hair, but he'd straightened at once when he heard the approach of another, saw him round the corner in a flash of gold. The Prince. What was he doing here? Aimeric didn't know what to do, what to say, he had never prepared himself to spend any time alone with Auguste himself, not yet! Realising he had hesitated, his cheeks pinched with colour as he hurried to stand.

"My Prince." He did his best to keep his voice steady, bowing his head. It appeared that Auguste was alone, but that was no surprise. Famously, he kept no pets.

-

Auguste snapped out of the strange haze that descended on him at the sound of Aimeric addressing him. He mentally cursed himself for the lapse; if he'd been in battle, he'd likely be dead. He took a step closer and offered a faint smile.

“Aimeric,” he said, and then, because that sounded far too intimate in the solitude of the gardens, “how are you enjoying your visit thus far?”

He was aware of one of his Guard catching up with him, though it was a peripheral awareness as the man kept to the shadows to watch for any dangers.

-

But little did Auguste know, this was a battle. Aimeric knew it, had been tutored so by his father before he had ridden from Fortaine, his beloved's letter tucked safely in the folds of his undershirt, close to the flutter of his heart. The court was a pit of vipers, even missteps could be a feint. He had to learn the dance too, or risk being swallowed up. It was frightening, overwhelming, but he couldn't show it.

The garden was meant to be his moment of respite before the feast, but now he was trapped with the Prince himself. Aimeric's throat felt tight, nerves lashing breath inside of his lungs. What should he say? What charming, effortless witticism should he conjure in order to make the Prince like him?

Eyes the colour of moss searched his face, then fell away, back to the fountain. "I'm well, my Prince. The quarters I've been provided with are very fine. You and your father are endlessly gracious for your hospitality.”

-

Auguste nodded faintly, unsurprised by the platitude, even if he'd hoped for something more honest. Even those near the borders had tongues of silver. Maybe it was a weakness in him, that he had no love for the battles of wit and words; Laurent enjoyed it enough for the both of them. He played them when he had to, out of necessity, though he preferred training his body over cultivating his mind to that extent. His brother might be able to talk his way out of death, but that wasn't his way.

He straightened as he glanced over Aimeric again, noting the familiar desire for solace and taking a step back. He knew that need all too well, he wouldn't deprive someone else of it. “Enjoy the gardens,” he said, turning to head back inside.

-

"Wait!" Was that his own voice? Aimeric scarcely recognised it, cutting through the pale evening air, a demand that he had no right to make to Royalty. But there it was, suspended between them, horror flitting across his face as he realised what he had done. Aimeric cringed, inwardly and outwardly, fingers curling into fists at his side. Had it been the glimmer of familiarity he noted in Auguste's blue eyes that made it painful to watch him walk away? Whatever it was, he had made his first blunder.    
  
"My Prince, I. I only meant," America's eyes searched desperately for an excuse, finding one after a moment in the cascading water of the fountain. "Perhaps you would show me them? The gardens? At your pleasure, of course, it's just, I'm finding myself rather overwhelmed." It was a good lie because it was still true, so Aimeric seized onto it. "Fortaine isn't half so grand, you see, and I'm here alone. My brothers had their own duties"

-

Auguste stopped out of sheer surprise, flicking his fingers at his Guard when he sensed him tense. He looked back at Aimeric, raising an eyebrow as he waited for a reason; felt the pause of someone searching for words and internally braced himself for the political dance he'd made the mistake of trying to take a break from.    
  
He considered the request, knew there was a bit of time before he would have to return and take his place beside his father for the feast, and he was loathe to give up even the illusion of a moment of respite. “Alright.”   
  
He stepped back to the fountain, motioning to a path that lead to the heart of the gardens where the night flowers would be coming into bloom. “You're a fourth son, aren't you?” he asked, recalling his tutors and the lessons of the higher ranking nobility of his kingdom, and their lineages.

**-**

Even as Auguste fluttered his long fingers at the guard and appeared to agree to his request, gesturing their path, Aimeric couldn't relax. The Prince's presence was a palpable thrum at his side, everything about him was vivid. His eyes, his hair, the quiet, confident strength he held ribboned in his broad shoulders. Aimeric had heard him described, but words were nothing when it came to the experience. He felt like such a little boy next to him, a child. He was also uncomfortably aware that up close he resembled his uncle almost negligibly. Only his eyes, which Aimeric was taking pains to avoid making contact with.    
  
He walked slowly in the direction Auguste indicated, his movements nervous and precise even as he attempted the languid grace he'd watched the other noblemen move with. Catlike. The setting sun bathed the gardens in a golden glow, and he almost found himself distracted from his anxiety by their beauty. So much so, that when he spoke, the answer that came was a little more candid that he might have liked. "Yes. My brother Frederic is eldest, he shall inherit Fortaine. My other brothers the outlying lands, aside from Etienne, he's to marry a Patran. I'm heir to nothing, but that means I have the freedom to do as I like." And his father the freedom to let strange men into his room at ten, to aid in his machinations. Aimeric repressed a shudder. "And you have Prince Laurent. I'm only a year his elder, but he acts older. He's beautiful"

-

Auguste watched Aimeric from the corner of his eye as they walked, noticing the nerves only because he was used to the signs when someone met royalty for the first time. He smiled faintly at the response, knowing freedom was a double edged sword for a noble’s son, much like a life bred and cultivated from birth to follow a specific path. “What do you intend to do with your freedom?”    
  
He slowed as they neared the viewing benches, refraining from sitting since he wouldn't want to make the effort to join the feast if he did. He tipped his head back, enjoying the remnants of warmth from the fading sun with the cool breeze, breathing in the thick scents of blooming flowers and growing greenery.    
  
A startled laugh escaped him at the mention of his brother. “I'm not sure he appreciates the sentiment, but I'll be sure to inflate his ego with how mature he seems,” he said, fond amusement infusing his voice.

-

To the first question, Aimeric found he had no answer. The words emptied in his chest, a chasm that Auguste had no idea existed, that anyone knew, perhaps aside from one man. Freedom was an illusion. None of them were truly at liberty to do as they pleased, even Princes. Without the straight forward path of destined responsibility, Aimeric was left to find his own way to make his family proud. "It led me here," he replied simply, glad when the conversation steered away from it.    
  
Aimeric was taken in by the flowers, drifting forward when Auguste stopped to lightly ghost his fingers around the edges of a dark red blossom's silky petals. Droplets of water came away with his finger tip. The gardens had been preened and watered and made lovely in preparation for this evening, when much of the court would retire here to socialise.    
  
"You sound as though you get along well, you and your brother, even if you are different." There was a hint of longing in his voice as his hand fell back to his side, fingers curling, and he looked back to regard his Prince. So different to how he had imagined, Aimeric felt himself drawn to him, but remained in place, allowing his eyes to do the wandering instead. Tall, sculpted, built for the battlefield. Eyes the colour of the ocean. A gentle smile. "It's a sacred bond, between brothers. I am no longer close with mine." He took a breath. "I hope you'll cherish it"

-

“I'm glad,” Auguste found himself saying, going still as he realized the blunder, forcing a smile as he glanced to Aimeric. “It's nice to have a chance of company with someone closer to my own age.” He paused as he looked at the gardens as the last of the light faded, replaced by the lanterns being lit by servants. “And I do,” he added, smile softening unconsciously. He made no secret about how much he cared for his brother, or Laurent about him.    
  
He felt the eyes studying him, but he was used to the sensation, turning to look at Aimeric with a slight tilt of his head. There was a story there, and he couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever have the privilege of hearing it. “I intend to.”    
  
He straightened as he realised they'd lingered, stepping towards the path again to return to the palace and the feast. “Perhaps we can continue our conversation through dinner?” he offered.

-

It was only now, that Auguste was gesturing back toward the viper's' nest, that Aimeric realised just precious these moments had been. Still a young man, a boy to some, he was scrambling to become competent in a game he barely understood, alone in a palace far from home, and no one was his friend. Auguste, though.. He'd spoken with him, casually, like this, without an agenda. Was he aware of the gift he'd given him? Aimeric found himself absurdly grateful, admiration stirring in his chest as he nodded, allowing himself one last wistful glance around the gardens before he peeled himself away.    
  
Back to the dinner, back to court. "I would like that, but..." Aimeric sighed, steeling himself, recounted his memory of his lessons in high born Veretian courtly manners. "I doubt we will be seated close. You'll be near the centre of the dais." Aimeric already knew he would have been relegated somewhere far from the King's close relatives. It was important to keep their relationship discreet, subtle, he'd said. "Perhaps, afterward. Or another day. I'll be staying for some time, after all. I'm sure we'll get the chance to converse again"

-

Auguste nodded faintly, holding his tongue. He knew it would be better if he didn't disrupt the seating, at least tonight. It would cause a stir, even if Aimeric was high born enough it might be overlooked.    
  
He straightened as they stepped into the palace, back in view of the eyes constantly watching him. “I hope the palace food is to your liking,” he said, smiling at Aimeric before moving to take his seat beside his brother. He felt Laurent's eyes on him as he sat, raising an eyebrow as he picked up a glass of wine. “You were paid a compliment by the noble from Fortaine,” he said, forestalling any remarks that might be on his brother's tongue.    
  
“Joy. Did he compare me to sun-touched silk?” Laurent asked, lips twitching in distaste.    
  
Auguste smirked. “He called you mature.” He didn't miss the touch of color in Laurent's cheeks and stifled his amusement behind his glass, eyes absently looking over the tables for said noble.

-

They had seated him next to a pet.    
  
A councillor's pet, at least, but Aimeric felt the sting keenly as he was sure it had been intended. This shame was to keep him from power, to stall any notions he might have had to make alliances with any nobles other than the King's brother. Already he could feel their eyes politely averting from his gaze, as one might avoid staring too long at something fascinating but unpleasant. With a sickly rush of terror, he wondered if maybe they knew, maybe they'd guessed.    
  
Turning his eyes towards the high table told him otherwise. There the man sat, unperturbed, pressing some delectable past the lips of the boy seated to his left. Aimeric's fingers tensed where they tangled in his lap, fidgeting. Suddenly, he felt very ill, and very alone. His eyes moved of their own accord along the table until the found the Princes, only to meet a steady blue stare fixed right back at him.    
  
Aimeric tore his eyes away abruptly, pretending to be engrossed in the conversation of the low ranking nobles sat opposite, begging time to crawl by faster.

-

The quick glance away had Auguste raising an eyebrow before he took in where exactly Aimeric had been seated. He frowned behind his glass, wondering who he'd made an enemy of, or who his father had made an enemy of.   
  
“Forget him,” Laurent said, spearing a piece of meat and taking a bite without looking up.    
  
He tore his eyes away from the tables, glancing over his brother. “Why?” He knew his brother knew he wanted to know what he'd been able to work out and frowned deeper when Laurent gave him a long-suffering look.    
  
“Because you don't know how to play with fire without getting burned.”   
  
Auguste blinked, staring at his brother as he tried to catch the hidden meaning in his words, half-sure there was an insult there. He sighed and reached for his own food, unable to keep his eyes from drifting back towards Aimeric, like moths to a flame.

-

Aimeric too, was unable to keep his eyes from wandering. They drifted, without fail, to the boy seated at the royal dais, dripping in sapphires. His golden hair was swept back with silver pins, fine and soft and curly, his face so perfectly shaped and angelic he might have sprung straight from a painting. Was that his rival? No, he was just a pet. It was a necessary thing to have pets at court, wasn't it? He shouldn't doubt the promises that had been made to him. He couldn't.    
  
Thankfully, the dinner didn't last much longer, and soon they were treated to some entertainment. Dancers, singers. Aimeric forced himself to appreciate the art in bodies writhing against each other, in songs weaved with lewdness. He shifted where he stood, alone, nursing the same glass of wine he'd taken from dinner. Another half hour and he could retire without raising any eyebrows.

-

Auguste felt a restlessness coiling inside him as dinner and the entertainment dragged on, keeping half an ear on Laurent's words as he spoke before his brother obviously gave up trying to distract him. He'd been too long kept inside the palace for days of proceedings as more and more nobles filtered in. It was more stifling than during the festivals, the itch for a moment of fresh air away from the press of so many conspiring minds stirring in him like a viper. It was something he'd have to learn to live with, when he became king, but he still had the luxury of being a prince for years to come. Hopefully.   
  
He pushed to his feet, mussing Laurent's hair on his way past him and towards the exit, politely excusing himself from the nobles striving for a moment of his time. He half-considered picking out a pet to avoid those trying to speak with him, but he didn't see Lukas, the only one he'd indulged enough in such schemes with not to be offended when he was left at the stables.

-

By the time Aimeric was finally able to peel himself away from the lecherous attention of some drunken nobleman, night had fallen in earnest. He'd heard of the Palace parties carrying on long into the night, until the sky lightened and the morning broke, but he had no interest in seeing it through. Pets had begun to crawl into laps, others engaging in open sexual acts for everyone to witness, and no one batted an eye. Aimeric knew he shouldn't either. He should be joining in.    
  
Instead, he found himself seeking out the fresh night air. Not just the gardens, which would be heaving with activity by now. Not the balcony in the quarters he'd been provided, with ostentatious flavours of Arles screeching in every decorative detail, suffocating. What would he do in his rooms apart from lie in bed, gazing at the ceiling, thinking of blue eyes and a promise?    
  
He found his mare in the stables where he'd left her, grazing demurely on some hay, a tranquil animal. Her dark eyes were watery and deep, kind without the understanding that might threaten judgement. Aimeric pressed his nose against her cheek, breathing her in. "We're outmatched here," he whispered to her, realising now that this dumb animal was his only friend, and everyone at that dinner had known it. "Tomorrow, I'll try harder. I made so many missteps today, but I.. But I can recover. He'll see my worth. I'm not just a fool little boy anymore"

-

Auguste stilled in saddling his horse as he heard footsteps, half-expecting Laurent to have followed him to join on an evening ride. When there was no sign of his brother retrieving his own tack, he peeked out of the stall, surprised to see Aimeric. He wasn't sure what held his tongue from calling a greeting, other than the habit of keeping his presence hidden on the rare occasion it went unnoticed, but when it seemed Aimeric was talking to his horse, he strained to hear the words.   
  
His horse chose that moment to show her own restlessness, whickering and butting him with her head as she pulled on the lead. “Alright, alright,” he muttered, slipping her a bit of sugar he'd pilfered from dinner.    
  
He stepped out, feigning surprise at spotting Aimeric. “Going for a ride?”

-

Both horse and boy flinched at the sudden sound, Aimeric shrinking away as if he'd been caught in the midst of some illicit act. In a manner of speaking, he had been. Weakness like that wouldn't help you survive at court, could even be a death sentence, should you be foolish enough to let someone hear you. And there was Auguste, arguably the most important figure at court of all, well within hearing distance.    
  
But if he'd heard, he didn't show it. Aimeric fought to still his breathing and piece back together the scraps of his composure, eyes moving from the Prince himself to his horse, all tacked up, prepared to ride. Aimeric swallowed. He couldn't exactly say he'd come down here to cry in private to his mare, could he? "Yes, my Prince. I see you are too." To lend credence to the lie, Aimeric moved to the opposite wall to collect the saddle, moving to slide it over his mare's back. Ever patient, she accepted the interruption to her meal without protest.    
  
"I don't suppose you'd like a companion?"

-

Had it been anyone else, aside from his brother, Auguste likely would have said no. As it was, Aimeric intrigued him enough he found he wanted to spend some time with him, and if that time was spent away from the prying eyes lining every wall of the castle, so much the better. He adjusted his horse’s bridle before removing the lead, offering a faint smirk to Aimeric. “Think you can keep up?”   
  
He didn’t wait for a response, leading his horse out of the stables and mounting up. He let her loose into a trot, turning her in a small circle and glancing to see if Aimeric was close behind. As soon as Aimeric mounted, he turned, giving his horse free reign as she launched into a canter and then a gallop, heading for the open area away from the palace, towards the ruins he and Laurent usually escaped to when they needed to clear their minds.

-

Hurrying to finish tacking up his mare, Aimeric barely had time to get his feet properly into the stirrups before Auguste took off, moving effortlessly as if he and his horse were one being. Aimeric found himself grinning, murmuring softly to his mare beneath him as she took off at a brisk canter. She wasn't the fine boned, royal bred creature that Auguste rode. She was half a mountain mutt, her limbs sturdy and certain, the roughness of her gait rocking at his hips as she moved. But God, he loved her.    
  
It wasn't long until he caught up, reins loose in his fingers as he gave the mare her head as she thundered forward. He risked a glance to his left, for a moment forgetting himself, who he was, who Auguste was. He could have been back in the green hills around Fortaine, galloping down toward the sand for a night ride on the beach.

-

Auguste glanced to Aimeric when he caught up, unable to keep the grin off his face.  _ This _ was true freedom, the wind on his face, tugging at his hair, the open kingdom in front of him, a strong horse beneath him. It didn’t matter if, in a few hours or less, he’d have to turn around and return to the shackles of royalty, so long as he had moments like these. Unwatched, unregulated.    
  
He passed the ruins where he usually turned if he were racing Laurent, continued on, until he reached the broken and crumbled remains of what had once been a tower. He finally slowed his horse to a trot and then a walk, turning in a lazy half-circle as she let out a noisy breath beneath him as he guided her back. His grin had faded to a smile as he glanced to Aimeric. “You’ve got a good horse,” he said, only mildly surprised Aimeric had kept up, and more than a little pleased.

-

Indeed they had kept up, but only just. The effort had been enough to cause sweat to dampen the roots of his hair, his chest heaving alongside his mare's. Hard to breathe, when he was still constricted in tight laced courtly attire instead of riding clothes. He drew his horse to a walk when they came close enough, the mare immediately dropping her head and breathing a loud snort that might have been relief.    
  
But despite his exertion, his perfectly weaved hair in slight disarray, cheeks flushed, Aimeric was smiling. "Her name is Silver," he replied as if that explained everything, reaching down to give her a firm pat on the side of her neck. Then, a blush. "I was young when I named her. Eight. It felt very imaginative at the time."

-

The laugh came unbidden, too relieved to be outdoors, too used to having Laurent by his side at times like these, when he could relax, utterly. Or at least as much as one ever dared relax when one was royalty, the ever-present, very real danger of attempts on one’s life. “It’s a suitable name,” he said, smiling as he let his eyes flick over the mussed hair, the flush of color in Aimeric’s cheeks. He wondered, briefly, what else could cause that reaction, and looked away as he cut off those thoughts.    
  
Taking a pet into his chambers on the pretense of enjoying pleasure was one thing; dallying with a high born was quite another, and not just because of the political repercussions that might follow. “How long will you be in Arles?” he asked, letting his horse meander back towards the main part of the ruins.

-

Aimeric took the opportunity to swing down from Silver's broad back, loosening at her girth strap and tying the reins loosely around the saddle so they wouldn't drag. A few minutes of respite, but she deserved it. It had been a long while since he'd asked so much of her. The journey from Fortaine had been a slow, meandering affair, and his guard never allowed him to stray so much of a foot out of their sight.    
  
He looked up when the Prince addressed him once more, finding a jut of ancient stone to lean against as his breathing began to calm. "Until my father summons me back home, I suppose. Perhaps when the barbarian Prince takes his leave, I shall too. Then again, I am officially a guest of your Uncle, maybe the choice lies with him. " Aimeric was mopping at his brow with his sleeve, slender fingers dragging through his chestnut hair to begin unravelling the braid. "Where are we?"

-

Auguste slid down from his own horse, letting her graze as he worked the collar of his formal shirt open, letting the ties hang loose as he found one of his usual seats and stretched his legs out with a shrug. “Old ruins on the way to Chastillon,” he said, leaning back on his hands and tipping his face into the breeze. “My brother and I come here to ride,” he added quietly. It wasn’t a secret that he and Laurent escaped on horseback together, though few had ever found them.    
  
He watched Aimeric undo his hair, sad to see the weave go, and looked away as he felt the sudden urge to run his fingers through it. It wasn’t a  _ new _ sensation, it was one of the few things he’d indulged in with a pet, but he’d thought he’d gotten past them now that he was older. He closed his eyes, digging his fingers into the worn stone until the feeling faded.

-

The tone in August's voice seemed to reveal that this was privy information, that these ruins were a special, secret place. It caused Aimeric to look around, peering through the darkness at the ancient mossy stonework, ornate carvings long worn by age and the elements. It was easy to pick out the details with the moon so bright, casting her glow everywhere like a second sun, drawing the shadows long and dark. He smiled, reminded of his life back home. Precious, innocent memories. There were so few.    
  
"There are ruins near Fortaine, too. My brother and I used to ride down to the ruin of an old fort by the sea when we stayed at our summer home by the sea. We played hide and seek behind the stones." He imagined Auguste and his own brother doing the same, but it was difficult to visualise Auguste as anything but the way he was now. Tall, strong, a man.    
  
Hair unravelled, he set to work tying it back again, graceful movements of his fingers artful and practised. "Thank you, for this. I'll refrain from riding here though, if it's you and your brother's place. My Prince"

-

Auguste cracked his eyes open as Aimeric spoke, imagining him with his brother in ruins such as these and smiling. His eyes flicked to the movement of fingers in hair, tilting his head and watching in mild fascination as Aimeric worked. The feeling of wanting to touch returned, but he bit it back, sitting up and brushing his hands off on his knees. “You’re welcome to come here. Though I’d ask you to keep from sharing that it’s one of my escapes,” he added with a wry twitch of his lips. They were becoming fewer and fewer, and closer to the palace, the older he got.    
  
“You can use my name,” he said, the words escaping before he had any chance to stop them. What had come over him? Certainly he wasn’t so desperate for a friend he was hoping to find one in a noble from the borders, who was likely here specifically to further his own agenda, or at least the agenda of his family.

-

If Auguste's own words caught himself off guard, then Aimeric was floored. His hands froze, verdant gaze cropping up sharply to his Prince's face, swimming with barely masked suspicion. He searched for the betrayal he  _ knew _ was lurking there, which had to be. This was just as his beloved had told him in the letter. The members of the court would seek to buy his friendship with honeyed words and platitudes, but they would use him, destroy him, leave his reputation in tatters so much that his own mother would turn him away at their gates.   
  
But Auguste didn't look like he wished to sell his trust. Out of everyone he had spoken to since his arrival, Auguste alone had been the only one to actually smile at him, not draw up the edges of his mouth in rehearsed politeness. He swallowed, his fingers slowly resuming to their work, a little slower than before. "If I did such a thing around other members of the court, it wouldn't be looked upon favourably... however, if that is what my Prince asks of me, when we are alone, just we two, I shall."

-

A faint smile forced its way to his lips at the expected response. They'd hardly known each other half a day, what else could Aimeric say? It was a sobering response, at least, a reminder of the distance between him and even the high born nobles of his own kingdom, even the ones close to his own age.    
  
He let out a breath and wiped his hands on his knees again. “It's simply an offer,” he said, doubting they would end up alone much after this. Tonight was a strange coincidence, or maybe fate reminding him of his duties, that he didn't have as many luxuries as he thought. He waited until Aimeric was done with his hair before speaking again. “Shall we return?” he said, getting to his feet and whistling for his horse, smiling as she responded by trotting up to him.

-

They should return. It was the reasonable thing. Even if Aimeric's absence went unnoticed, the Prince's certainly wouldn't. However, even so, the boy found that his feet were rooted to the earth. He didn't whistle for Silver, grazing quietly nearby beside Auguste's own horse. Instead, he looked at him, drank him in through the darkness, his Prince bathed in moonlight. Only now did he notice that he'd loosened the laces of his collar, the peak of a collarbone glancing at the open air, a sight that somehow felt intensely private. A patch of skin where a pet might press a kiss.    
  
Aimeric looked away sharply, taking a deep breath. No. Where were these thoughts springing from? He was tired and needy, that was it. He had spent half the night gazing at his beloved fawn over some other boy. The memory made the muscles in his throat clench.    
  
Silver approached at Aimeric's whistle, plodding over with good natured slowness. He set to readjusting her tack, the girth and the reins, before he swung back up onto her back. "The same again, Auguste?" The taste of that name on his tongue felt like a dare; his heart fluttered. "Or shall we take our time?"

-

The sound of his name on Aimeric’s lips took him completely unaware. He sank into the saddle with a bit less grace than usual, his horse sidestepping with a soft snort, clutching at the reins as he willed the thrill of surprise and warmth of pleasure to subside.    
  
He glanced up at Aimeric when it passed a moment later, struggling to keep his smile from showing anything. As much as he was coming to like Aimeric, he couldn't shake his brother's words, and until he knew what kind of threat Aimeric posed, he should tread with caution. 

He knew all that, knew it had been a risk from the start, but he did so much find fire fascinating.    
  
“We can take our time,” he heard himself say, smiling as he tied the reins in a knot and let them rest on his mare’s neck, urging her to a walk and guiding her with his knees and legs. His hands went to his collar, setting to work with lacing it back into place. No sense in giving credence to any rumors that might crop up.

-

Aimeric followed suit, retying his reins and urging Silver forward to take up place beside August's mare. He spoke before he had the chance to think on his words, syllables tumbling from his tongue. "As you wish. I do like it sometimes to go slowly." Aimeric could hardly believe his ears. Was he  _ flirting _ ? Or at least, attempting it? It was a thing so foreign to him that he wasn't certain quite how to interpret his own intentions. 

Seduction was not his art. He thought of his beloved's pet curling his tongue around a confection as it was pushed past his lips, measured in every push and pull of muscle. His hands, braced on each thigh, tightened into fists, something like jealousy searing at the gap in his chest.

-

Warmth stirred in his stomach as the words sank in, fingers catching on his ties as he glanced at Aimeric from the corner of his eye. He couldn't help but admire Aimeric’s profile, the play of moonlight on his features, and he had to reign in his thoughts before they could drift to imagining a different kind of low light.    
  
“Only sometimes?” he asked, an unusual pitch to his voice that almost sounded... sultry. Of all the things they could talk about, he hadn't quite expected this kind of turn. He'd flirted with some of the high born ladies of the court, though he expected when he married for it to be a political arrangement. Lukas was the only male he'd flirted with, in private, and it was always an outrageous affair once Lukas’ tongue loosened enough to return it.    
  
“A race to the finish is more to your liking?” he asked, a hint of a laugh in his voice.

-

The response took him aback, completely unexpected, so much so that he almost flinched before he caught himself, Silver shifting nervously beneath him as she felt him tense. He had assumed he would be parried, at once, if not politely then harshly, and the rest of the ride would be spent in sullen, awkward silence.    
  
Instead, his breath felt hot, every inch of his skin suddenly aware of the tight laced clothing that restricted it. Aimeric risked a glance to Auguste's face, and felt heat rise to colour his pale cheeks crimson. "Is it to your liking? Auguste?" The word was deliberate, taken like a bite from a tart fruit.    
  
"I prefer to enjoy the view; the power of my mount moving beneath me." Now, this was going too far. It was a trial to stop his hands from visibly trembling as he brought them up to untie his reins.

-

Heat crept up his neck as he finished lacing his collar back into place, thankful for the lack of decent lighting as Aimeric’s words stirred something else in him. “It might be.” He couldn't help how his mind supplied images to that new information, Aimeric above him - he forced them away before they could go further than that, though the deliberate use of his name almost made him breathless.   
  
“Confident in your abilities to control a powerful mount?” he asked softly, the same sultry purr to his voice. He picked up his reins again, unknotting them and holding them in one hand, his other resting on his thigh.

-

Aimeric's mind was not so merciful in sparing him the vivid imagery that bloomed alongside his words. Aimeric had only ever had one lover and their trysts had always been brief and volatile, cracks of pain in amongst pleasure, words of admiration that dropped thick and dark like ink into the pool of ecstasy he told himself he felt. Never had it gone slowly, and never had he been on top. It was an exhilarating fantasy, but one he'd never thought he'd ever picture the Prince of Vere himself as being part.    
  
But it was happening, and the Prince of Vere wasn't helping. The tone of his voice may as well have been his hands, travelling the slope of his waist to his hips, making him shiver. Aimeric gripped a hold of the reins tightly. "Yes. But there's a certain thrill in my mount overcoming me and carrying me to the finish as he  _ prefers, _ too." Lights were beginning to bob into view in the distance. It wouldn't be long before this could no longer continue without the risk of someone overhearing.    
  
But no, he wouldn't rush to say anything else. He would let things curl between them slowly, the syrupy atmosphere so thick he couldn't move, couldn't breathe without feeling Auguste's presence.

-

That was certainly a thrilling thought, enough he curled his fingers tighter against the reins, holding his tongue before it could go any further. Auguste let out a soft breath instead, feeling the weight of the air between them, heady and a touch intoxicating.    
  
He wasn't sure what he expected to come of this, though he had a feeling it would be a mess; nothing was ever simple in the palace. As they drew closer to the stables, he glanced to Aimeric. “Maybe you'll get a chance to experience it sometime,” he said, smiling faintly as he halted and dismounted to lead his horse back to her stall.

-

Maybe he would get a chance to experience it. The suggestion sunk in slowly, wax sliding down the sides of a candle, flame-hot. It was several seconds of dumb silence before Aimeric realised that Silver had come to a polite stop, waiting patiently for her master to dismount and follow Auguste's lead into the stables.  _ I love you my friend, ever my ally in all things _ , he clapped his hand against Silver's neck gratefully as he swung himself from the saddle, realising with a jolt of his heart that he couldn't feel his feet.    
  
He led Silver back to her stall, removing her tack and placing it back on the stand to be cleaned on the morrow by some stable boy. He also took a moment to seek out a bag of oats, digging in his fingers to extract two generous handfuls. Silver made short work of the first, a breath of laughter sneaking past Aimeric's lips as she greedily sought for more in the gaps between his fingers. "No more for you. The rest is for your new friend. She beat you, don't you think she deserves it?"    
  
Slowly, Aimeric brought himself close to the stall that held Auguste's horse, suddenly shy. "Can.. can I? I always give Silver a treat after a ride"

-

Auguste removed the saddle and set it aside with the bridle, attaching a lead as he picked up a brush. A stableboy would be in with water to properly cool her down and tend to her, but he made an effort to at least do this much when he had the time.    
  
He glanced up as Aimeric approached, smiling at the hesitant question. “You spoil your horse,” he said with a soft laugh, patting his horse's neck as she strained towards the treat. “Go ahead.” He resumed brushing, watching Aimeric with a strange sensation building in his chest. He finished and tossed the brush into its bucket, coming to stand beside Aimeric and stroking his hand along his mare’s neck, suddenly aware of how close they were without the distraction of horses beneath them.

-

Aimeric had the manners to blush as Auguste gently admonished him, lowering his eyes and stepping forward as he was bid, raising his hand slowly and waiting for the horse to accept his offering. This animal was more eager than Silver, spirited, the coiled might of years of careful breeding written in her muscles as in her manner. Oddly, Aimeric was reminded of Auguste himself. He wondered what Auguste thought of him, and if he in any way resembled Silver to his courtly eye. So used to the careful, precise flourishes of nobles and their pets, Aimeric must look uncultured, half a wild mountain brute, just like his horse.   
  
"She's my dear friend. Don't you spoil your dear friends when they do you favours?" He smiled, a hint of mischief glinting in his gaze as he raised his other hand to scratch at the mare's nose. Auguste was close, so close, he could see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He imagined that he could taste his scent too, in amongst the aroma of horse and dust and sweat. "Thank you, for tonight. I needed it."

-

The mischief was a welcome addition to the conversation and he didn't try to hide his amusement as he turned his attention to Aimeric. It was as odd as it was refreshing; no other noble or high born had dared speak to him in such a way. “I'm told I spoil my brother too much,” he said, glancing away with a wry twist of his lips as he realised Laurent was one of the only people he trusted enough to call friend. There'd been others, when he was younger, but they'd faded away or were swallowed up by the viper’s nest of the court.    
  
He focused on Aimeric again at the thanks, swallowing the words admitting he'd needed it to as he straightened. “Perhaps we can do it again,” he said, smiling as he removed the lead from his horse and stepped out of the stall, waiting for Aimeric before closing the door.    
  
He let out a breath, straightening further as he prepared to return to the palace, glad it was late enough most would at least have retired or be distracted with a pet by now. He glanced to Aimeric again, starting to reach out to clasp his shoulder, aborting the motion before it even really became one. He pushed away from the stall instead, turning for the exit.

-

Aimeric's green eyes tracked the movement, felt his breath stammer and stop as it froze in his lungs, and suddenly he realised how desperate he was for his touch. A firm hand of friendship on his shoulder, or a tender one on his cheek. Even one less tender between his legs, anything, the loneliness seared at his insides, the emptiness that Auguste's own uncle had clawed out with greedy fingers. But the hand fell away, and Aimeric exhaled. Of course. Whatever they had, it drifted between the stones of the ruins they'd rode to. Back at court, it was better that they were nothing.   
  
"It would be my honour," he said simply, bowing his head. Who knew who was watching, listening, lurking behind the nearest corner. "Perhaps your brother could join us. Or, I--." Aimeric heard himself stumble over words before he had the wit to steer himself in a different direction, away from any naked admission of emotion. This, somehow, felt more illicit than the lewd banter that had passed between them only moments before. "That is, I liked this just fine. You and I. But if you prefer other company, I wouldn't be offended"

-

Auguste stopped two steps away, glancing back at Aimeric with a slight frown, something in his words or tone not sitting well with him. He fought the urge to say something  _ honest; _ honesty could be used against either of them if someone overheard.   
  
“Join me tomorrow. If you like,” he said instead. Laurent might be livid with him, they'd made plans to spend the morning together, but he'd get over it, or demand payment for the inconvenience. It might even work in his favor, if Laurent was given a chance to speak with Aimeric; he'd either figure out the plot or grudgingly accept his presence. “Here. After breakfast.” He smiled and turned without waiting for an answer; lifting his fingers in farewell as he headed back to the palace.

-

Tomorrow. The promise fluttered in his chest like a caged bird, his body strangely weightless, as he bid a delayed farewell and turned in the opposite direction toward his own quarters. Only when he was a safe distance away did he allow himself to breathe, grinning like a fool as he reached up to clamp a hand around the back of his neck, feeling the heat of his blush through the velvet overcoat.  _ Tomorrow _ . Surely it was fine to indulge in these small moments of private pleasure, as the rush of all that had passed between them flooded through his mind in a heady, hot storm.   
  
Then, he was aware of another presence, standing at the top of the steps leading back into the palace, and he froze. Short, blonde haired, gorgeous and delicate as honeysuckle. Aimeric froze, and for a moment only tense, terrified silence passed between them; or rather, terror on Aimeric’s part. The pet stared down at him as a cat might stare at a sparrow.    
  
“He wants to see you. The King’s brother.” Through the dark, he could see the boy’s lovely face contort as he smirked. “You better hurry. You’ve already kept him waiting for longer than he’s used to”   
  
And just like that, the moment died. Aimeric straightened, his hand falling back to his side. It was hard to believe that this boy was only a few years younger than him. Not because they were similar, no, because he felt so much older. An imposing, threatening presence who embodied the real heart of all that Aimeric had been taught to fear at Arles. A viper.    
  
“Yes. Thank you. I’ll go to him right away”


	2. Chapter 2

Auguste couldn’t help the good mood. He wasn’t even sure if Aimeric would join them or not, but the possibility of it was there, at least until he and Laurent rode out. Either way, last night had left him in good spirits, and he knew it showed, considering he could feel Laurent eyeing him every few minutes, and the almost sour mood of his brother was... almost amusing.   
  
“Did you spend the night with Lukas?” Laurent finally asked, finishing with his own horse and moving to lean against the stall near Auguste.   
  
He slanted a look to Laurent with a soft laugh. “No.”   
  
Laurent crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes with a slight scowl he never showed anyone else. “Then why are you in such a good mood?”   
  
Auguste smirked, finishing with the bridle and patting his horse on the neck before turning. “Why are you in such a foul one, little brother? We’ve the morning to ourselves.”   
  
“You’re up to something.”   
  
“Maybe.”   
  
Laurent huffed, turning to lead his horse from her stall as they headed out of the stables, mounting and eyeing Auguste when he didn’t. “What are you waiting for?”

-

It had been dawn when Aimeric finally found sleep, staring up at the silken canopy in the dark of his room, feathered mattress soft and yielding beneath him.  He thought of Auguste, the ease with which he laughed and smiled around him, for him. No one had ever acted that way before to Aimeric. It was fresh and new and wonderful... or, it ought to be. Instead, his joy settled and mixed with his beloved’s words, boiling it to nothing. _‘You’re more sly than you seem, Aimeric. I’m proud of you. Good boy. You’ve gotten so tall since I last saw you, haven’t you, but you’re still the same sweet, obedient boy I always knew. And beautiful. Come here...’_   
  
No time to bother with breakfast, Aimeric took the steps down to the stables two at a time, breathless by the time he made it down to the stalls. Would he be too late? There were voices out in the yard, a flash of golden hair, and with a grin Aimeric realised that he wasn’t.   
  
Today, granted the boon of advanced notice, Aimeric had dressed a little more appropriately for riding. Boots of dark leather that were slightly scuffed from use, the laces on his clothing a little more forgiving, the fabric more breathable. He’d taken care with the styling of his hair too, agonising over the artful braids he had decided that Auguste had to like, since he had stared at him while he tied them the night before.   
  
Silver was ready and waiting, dark eyes shining, and Aimeric leaned down to press a kiss against her nose before he slipped on her bridle. “There will be _three_ handfuls of oats and an _entire_ apple if you serve me well today, Silv.” Silver whinnied softly as though she understood, following eagerly as he led her out into the yard where both the Princes were waiting.

-

Auguste idled by readjusting his saddle, ignoring the way Laurent’s mood darkened the longer he waited in silence.   
  
_”Auguste.”_   
  
With a sigh, he checked their lunch provisions one last time, more than enough for three, before pulling himself into his saddle. He was about to turn to head to the stream tucked away behind the ruins when he caught sight of Aimeric, unable to stop from smiling. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come.”   
  
Laurent stiffened in his saddle, slanting a look to Auguste as his lips thinned.   
  
He knew he’d have to make it up to his brother somehow, could already see him putting up the walls and the mask he used every day in court, and he felt a stab of guilt that he’d forced him into donning it out here when this was supposed to be an escape for both of them.

-

For one blissful, blessed moment, all that existed was Auguste. The morning sun cradled his golden head, cast a glorious light atop his shoulders and carved the shadows from Aimeric’s chest, the only thing brighter, his smile itself. When he spoke, he felt breathless. “I overslept.”   
  
But there was another presence in the yard, one Aimeric couldn’t ignore. “My Prince,” he greeted, bowing his head, hoping that this typical act of deference would be enough to soothe whatever reluctance he noted swirling in those blue eyes before he assumed his impassive mask. Silver stood quiet and still as he heaved himself up onto her back, noting with admiration the delicate, glassy curves of Laurent’s own mount. She made Silver look like a farmer’s plough horse. “I hope it’s alright if I accompany you and your brother on your ride today.”

-

Auguste sighed and sent his brother a pleading look to hold his barbed tongue for once.  
  
“It’s already been decided,” Laurent replied, offering his most polite smile before turning his horse and taking off.   
  
Auguste expected Laurent to break into the easy canter they usually used when escaping to the ruins, but he settled into a brisk walk instead, and Auguste knew this was not going to be a pleasant morning for him. The race to the ruins was what he looked forward to most, and Laurent knew that. He let out a quiet sigh and glanced to Aimeric as he followed. “Did you sleep well?”

-

Noting the tension that was strung taut between them, but knowing better than to test it, Aimeric nudged Silver forward, reaching down to deliver a scratch of apology to the base of her mane with his gloved hand when she shook her head, impatient. Clearly, she remembered the night before when they had taken off from this same yard at a run, and was in a mood to do it again. Alas, apparently they were to live their lives in the palm of the young Prince a few feet ahead of them.  
  
At least Auguste attempted formalities. Aimeric returned his glance, smiling curtly. Maddening, to think that only a few hours before, they had felt as close as a hair’s breadth from Aimeric openly proposing they rut right there against the stable doors. “Yes, fine. As the days pass I shall sleep better. I take a while to grow accustomed to unfamiliar beds.” The implication in his words that he hadn’t intended was only noticed after he spoke, and he hurried to change the subject. “No race, today?”

-

Auguste let out a breath at the familiar warmth those words stirred, the feelings from last night resurfacing with a vengeance despite his brother’s presence, but at least it did help him hold his tongue. A little. “I’m sure there’s nothing I could possibly do to help with that,” he said with a faint smirk. He straightened at the mention of a race and glanced to his brother, smirk widening. “Why not?” Then, raising his voice, “Laurent! We’ll see you at the ruins!” And then he was giving his horse free rein, galloping past Laurent with a grin.  
  
He heard his brother shout something behind him, but he paid him no heed, not daring to glance back when he heard the thunder of hooves behind him. Usually he let Laurent win, and he did hold back a bit more than he had last night, but only just, on the chance Laurent gave up being a surly teenager and enjoyed himself.   
  
He closed his eyes, briefly, tipping his head into the rush of wind and relishing the feeling of being airborne, being _free._   
  
It was over too soon; it always was, no matter how long it lasted. He slowed to a canter when the ruins came into view, then a trot and a walk, and for the first time since they started their tradition of coming here, he beat his brother to them. He turned and eyed them both with a grin, his horse blowing a heavy sigh and stamping a foot on the ground. Laurent might have been glaring, but he couldn’t quite repress the twitch of his lips as he caught up, and there was something like annoyance forming in his eyes.   
  
“I knew your horse was faster,” Laurent muttered.

-

When at last they drew up to where Auguste was waiting for him, Aimeric did so ahead of Laurent. Both boy and horse were breathing hard, Silver’s nostrils flared pink, but Aimeric couldn’t help the glow of satisfaction and pride that practically beamed out of him as he leant down to treat her to a generous rub on the side of her neck, mumbling praise. Some old plough horse after all. Aimeric should have never doubted her.   
  
Straightening up, he took the reins back in hand as he cast his eyes around, drinking in the ruins as they hadn’t been before, visible, in broad daylight. Now he could see the logic in the bones of forgotten structures, the ghosts of arched door ways and old rooms. He wondered if, once, this place had been as grand as the palace in Arles.   
  
The thought drew his gaze back behind them, half turning in the saddle, to face the city they had just left. There was the palace perched atop the hill, looming, a hawk searching for prey. Aimeric’s smile dulled, and he turned back around. No. While they were out here, he wouldn’t think of what lay in the Palace.   
  
“You’re a fine rider,” looking at Auguste right now somehow felt transgressive, heat swirling in his stomach at just the thought, so he turned his attention to the brother instead. “I wouldn’t take it personally. My brothers used to always let me win too.”

-

Laurent eyed Aimeric, looking almost startled before his features smoothed out again. “Yes, older brothers seem to act without considering the effects of their actions,” he said dryly, nudging his horse into the ruins to cut across to the woods on the other side.   
  
Auguste sighed, though he refused to have his good mood squandered so easily. “Little brothers forget how much trouble their older brother has saved them from,” he called back with a grin. He snickered at the rude gesture he got in response, nudging his horse into step beside Aimeric’s. “I’m impressed you beat him,” he said, glancing to Aimeric with a smile. “Even with a head start.”

-

 _Little brothers forget how much trouble their older brother has saved them from_ . The words sank into his flesh like teeth. They hurt. Only Frederic had turned his eyes away, alongside his Father, but Etienne especially had argued, slamming doors to his father’s solar and taking off in the night for a furious ride, alone, Aimeric watching pale faced and round eyed from his window. He hadn’t come to bid him farewell, either, on the morning he’d left for Arles. Aimeric hadn’t expected it, but he’d still cried himself to sleep the first night in his tent.   
  
Aimeric stirred himself from his thoughts, offering Auguste an apologetic if not delayed smile, nudging Silver in Laurent’s wake when the other drew beside him. “Only just,” he admitted, but he couldn’t help turning his fond gaze back to his horse, her head dipping as she settled into this more sedate pace. “But thank you.” Another pause, another breath. Did he dare?   
  
He dared. “I hope there are still many more things I can do to impress you, Auguste”

-

He didn’t miss the faraway look in Aimeric’s eyes, but he didn’t comment on it either, settling into the ambling walk through the ruins as their mounts caught their breaths. He smiled faintly at the response. _Only just._ Only just could be the difference between life and death in some situations.   
  
The sound of his name had pleasure coiling up his spine, and his smile widened as he glanced at Aimeric again. Maybe this had not been such a grand idea after all, but it was too late now. Only the fact he knew his brother was out of earshot if he pitched his voice low enough let him answer, “I’m sure you’ll find I’m rather easy to please, Aimeric.”

-

Was this the first time he had said his name? Aimeric didn’t know, only able to recognise the shudder of pleasure that coursed down his spine, visible as he swallowed, readjusting his seat. There was no shadow and moonlight to conceal him now, the effects of Auguste’s flirting naked for inspection. He would have to learn how to steel himself better. His beloved had coached him the night before, explained to him those he should fear and those he should count as friend, those who were sly and those were fools. If he was to survive at court, he had to reveal nothing, maintain a mask. If he succeeded, then he could have everything he wanted. He’d promised.  
  
But they were not in the palace. Here, beside Auguste, with only their horses beneath him as witness to their words, felt like a private place. A fantasy world where Aimeric was beautiful and desirable and a Prince flirted with him. “I counter: you’re the Prince, the future King, people work harder to please you than most. As I have, and as I do, and as I would. I’d sink to my knees for your service in a moment.” He had missed out on breakfast to perfect his hair, but that was fine, the sting of hunger joined with the ache of longing in his chest like they were one delicious hurt.   
  
The landscape was changing around them, the grassy hills of the ruins giving way to forest. Laurent was still some way ahead; good, their uncle had said to be cautious of him. At court, he meant, but Aimeric was sure that Laurent wouldn’t take kindly to some border noble’s pup making lewd banter with his older brother either.

-

Auguste couldn’t deny the curl of pleased satisfaction as he noticed Aimeric’s reaction. It was a strange sensation, different from those ladies of the court he had indulged in flirtations with, half out of boredom, half out of some sense of putting to rest the rumors that he had no preference for man or woman. It was part of why he’d chosen Lukas a year ago to join him on occasion.   
  
He tilted his head at the response, lips twisting in a wry smile as he turned his attention back to their path. It was all true, he knew. The Crowned Prince, heir to all of Vere. It was a constant weight of knowledge in the back of his mind, how much the kingdom depended on him, even as a prince, how even a lapse in judgment now could cause ripples of consequences later.   
  
He tightened his grip on his reins, the pretty words the last thing he wanted to hear while he was out here, away from plots of the palace, though he was learning that he was never truly free from them. They would always be there, and when he and Laurent were a few years older, maybe they wouldn’t even have this between them as reprieve. Instead there would only be more plots, should Laurent ever turn his mind to seeking the throne. He loved his brother, but even he was learning he couldn’t be naive his entire life.   
  
“Perhaps you’re right,” he murmured. “A simple request and anyone would kneel, right?” He had to wonder how many would actually kneel for _him_ rather than for their Prince.

-

The mood seemed to turn on a heel the moment the words left his lips, and Aimeric was left wondering where it was that he had stumbled. Had he pressed it too far at last? Intimacy and flirting were fine, perhaps, as long as they remained impersonal, never straying into the realms of direct proposition. Was that it?   
  
The tone of Auguste’s voice had changed too, quieter now, more thoughtful. He almost seemed... sad? Bitter? Before he had the chance to refer to his better judgement, Aimeric’s fingers twitched at the reins, steering Silver ever so slightly closer.   
  
“Am I ‘anyone’?” His voice was barely above a whisper. This was selfish. He should be looking to comfort Auguste, not seek out a balm for his own fears that Auguste’s feelings might have cooled for him in the space of one sentence. It was presumptuous to think that there were feelings at all!

-

Auguste shifted as he sensed Aimeric move closer, some part of him expecting some form of apology, the kind that seemed to spill like honey from the lips of courtiers when either he or Laurent were in anything but the most perfect mood. He braced himself, unconsciously, in the same manner his brother had the moment he realised they wouldn’t be alone as usual. Showing weakness was the worst mistake someone in his position could make, and he’d done so... how many times since last night?   
  
He glanced at Aimeric in surprise at the question, raising an eyebrow as their eyes met. _”Are_ you?” he asked quietly, a touch of a challenge in his gaze. He still wasn’t sure how much he could trust Aimeric, but if there would be anything between them, even if only friendship, this was as good a time and place to start figuring it out.

-

Aimeric hadn't been expecting the challenge, either. All the same, he met it, savouring this opportunity to bask under Auguste's gaze, to feel the heat slither between them. Ten glorious, hot, inescapable seconds of eye contact, that were somehow more pleasurable and more intense than any sex Aimeric had ever had in his life. _'Confident in your abilities to control a powerful mount?'_ The words bled meaning that they hadn't captured before now, and Aimeric was determined to continue impressing Auguste just as he'd promised. "I don't know, Auguste," It was a miracle that he was able to keep his voice steady, Aimeric noted in some dazed thought quiet in the back of his mind, observing the way he smiled, the way he rolled his hips to urge Silver forward. "Isn't that for you to decide?"

-

Aimeric felt each second pass slower than the last, taking in the rich color of Aimeric’s eyes as they stared at each other. The response, when it finally came, sounded genuine, at least until what he was sure was teasing at the end. He let out a breath, nudging his own horse a bit faster as they reached the trees, picking his way through the foliage to the stream where Laurent had already made himself comfortable against a tree, his horse grazing nearby.  
  
It wasn’t until he dismounted, tying the reins to let his horse join his brother’s, he realised how... strained this could end up being. He retrieved the food from the saddlebag, setting it on a rock. “If you overslept, did you miss breakfast?” he asked, glancing to Aimeric as he offered him one of the wrapped bundles. Each had a piece of bread, cheese, and some grapes that would tide them over until they returned to the palace.

-

Dismounting, Aimeric tied the reins and loosened the girth as usual, smiling as Silver moved to join the other horses, eager to seek out their company. If only that easy camaraderie would come as easily to their three riders, already basking in a strange awkward tension as Aimeric moved to sit what he judged was a polite distance from Auguste's younger brother. With his presence came the reminder that he had to measure his words more carefully, since every one was now a weapon that the young Laurent could wield. He was young, but his tongue was already famous for cutting down nobles much older and much more competent than Aimeric.  
  
"Ah, yes. Thank you." He smiled as he took the bundle, feeling a surge of affection for Auguste that immediately embarrassed him now that Laurent was present, as if he were afraid that the other could somehow read his thoughts. "I only brought some guards with me from Fortaine, no servants. Your Uncle has generously provided me with a household staff while I stay in Arles, but I've yet to meet any of them, so I couldn't request they bring me anything while I got ready"

-

“Perhaps they were dismissed,” Laurent said, voice calm as he shredded a long piece of grass into fine strands. “Or chose to keep their distance from one obviously fallen out of favor.”   
  
Auguste repressed a sigh, leveling a look at his brother which was summarily ignored.   
  
Laurent turned his attention to Aimeric as he shifted enough to grab one of the remaining bundles of food. “Well, you’ve my brother’s attention now. Why don’t you let us know who has a grudge against you, and we’ll see it taken care of?” he offered, and Auguste knew the sound of genuine sincerity in his voice for the trap it truly was only from witnessing its evolution over the years.

-

Even if Aimeric hadn’t the years of experience that Auguste had, he knew to trust this new stem of kindness not one bit. Even so, he knew to that he had to play along. Nervously, he plucked at a grape, buying time as he pushed it past his lips and chewed. Damn it, what should he say? He knew it had been their Uncle who had seated him there, but he couldn’t tell them that.   
  
It was time to put his courtly manner into practise, and in front of Auguste, it felt grotesque. “I’m not aware of a grudge. I wish I did know, but from what I can tell, they aren’t fool enough to reveal themselves to me. Obviously they hide their grievances and prefer to shame me through petty acts such as sitting me somewhere I wouldn’t like at dinner.” Aimeric attempted a shrug; perhaps seeming unconcerned might draw Laurent’s attention away from the matter. If he considered him lame enough that he wouldn’t be bothered by such a slight, then he wasn’t a threat, and therefore not worth the waste of scrutiny. “Perhaps they have a disagreement with my father? He is ambassador to Akielon.”

-

Laurent smiled sweetly, though the look in his eye gave the impression he hadn’t expected anything less than deflection. “Oh? It seems a low blow indeed to go after a fourth son for a grudge against his father.”  
  
“Laurent.”   
  
“Especially one with no bite,” Laurent continued, almost thoughtfully.   
  
“Laurent, that’s enough.” Auguste curled his fingers into a fist, meeting his brother’s glare with one of his own.   
  
Laurent’s eyes widened in mock innocence. “Don’t you want to know who’s tormenting your new friend?”   
  
Auguste gritted his teeth, biting back the suggestion that Laurent should leave - he wouldn’t betray him even further today if he could help it. “Don’t you want to speak of something other than the schemers of the palace?”   
  
Laurent’s smile was sharp. “I would,” he said, the unspoken _if only there weren’t one in our midst_ hanging between them.

-

Aimeric's temper flared, and his lips had parted to defend himself when Auguste mercifully cut to his defense, leaving whatever fumbling retort his anger had supplied him to sit impotently on his tongue, swallowed back as he watched the brothers' exchange. It was evident now that Laurent suspected him of something, and that knowledge alone made Aimeric nervous. Just how much did he know? Was he simply suspicious of anyone who attempted to get close to his brother? To that he could relate, since Aimeric had been much the same for Etienne, jealously harbouring him all to himself. That is, until his beloved came.   
  
The boy went to extreme efforts to keep his posture languid, eyes fixed on Laurent's face. He could not back down, not now. This one would tear him to shreds like a dog going to ground on a fox if he let him smell even a hint of blood. Even if Auguste seemed eager to change the subject, he couldn't, not yet. "I apologise, my Prince. Forgive me if I come across as provincial in my knowledge of the arts involved in the social life of your court. I've never had anyone level a scheme against me, or done so against anyone else, so I'm naive to the motivations that might fuel them. Alas, I'm not fluent in the language of snakes." He raised another grape to his lips. "Perhaps you might teach me?"

-

Auguste glanced to Aimeric when he spoke, biting the inside of his cheek at him asking Laurent for assistance in learning the tongue of snakes. He reached for the remaining bundle of food, nibbling on a grape as he resigned himself to listening to whatever dance they decided to start.   
  
Laurent fixed his eyes on Aimeric when his brother finally backed down. “I find it difficult to believe even the fourth son of an ambassador never experienced the forked tongues of schemers,” he said, tilting his head as he bit into a grape. He raised his eyebrows at the question. “You give me too much credit. I hardly keep up with the snakes myself. However, I’m sure my brother would be quite eager to show you how to use your tongue.”

-

Breath snagged in his throat, painful, and before he could stop it colour had already flooded his cheeks. It took everything he had to prevent himself from acting on the urge to look at Auguste then, to see what face he was wearing when his little brother had made such a suggestion. And, secretly, to see if he was blushing too, wanting it.   
  
No, he had to concentrate. Aimeric swallowed the last of his grape, rolling a seed along the roof of his mouth with his tongue, making a play of selecting which piece of fruit to take next. It was obvious he was out-matched from their credentials alone: Laurent was the Prince of Vere, he had grown up at court, and Aimeric was the fourth son of a border lord who spent his childhood riding horses and looking for seashells to show his brother. "I don't think _Auguste_ reduces himself to crawl along his belly with the court's animals enough to speak their tongue." He made sure to misunderstand his meaning, and second, he made sure to use Auguste's name. "However, I hear you are quite accomplished. Your Uncle tells me that nobles cower before you already. It's admirable. I don't think anyone from back home sees me as more than a little boy, but here you are."

-

Auguste closed his eyes and swallowed a groan, sure Laurent was going to say something that he would regret or that would ensure they didn’t speak to each other for a few days. Even if Laurent’s tongue could be sharp as a blade, he was still young, and he hadn’t quite learned to temper his words when he got riled. It wasn’t often anyone even engaged him for more than a minute’s conversation before they were slipping away, afraid to be scarred.   
  
Laurent raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking to Auguste at the sound of his name on Aimeric’s lips. “You seem to know my brother so well after a single day,” he said, tearing off a piece of bread with a considering look. It shifted, something flickering behind his eyes at the mention of his uncle. “And my uncle. You’ve certainly made friends in high places for such a little boy,” he said, sounding impressed. “Well, if Auguste doesn’t meet your standards, certainly my uncle does?”

-

In that moment, Aimeric was certain he would snap. Had Laurent meant to word it that way? His heartbeat stuttered and died inside of his chest, a thousand memories flooding his mind as his blood ran cold. Mentioning their uncle had been a crucial mistake and he realised it now. It would be the tether that this hellcat would hang him with, he was sure of it.   
  
Despite being close to panic, Aimeric was well used to keeping such feelings at bay by now. Hiding them beneath a polite smile, concealing the trembling of his fingers by retreating his hands to fold comfortably in his lap. The best defense against him seemed to be to ignore as much as possible, to attempt to guide the conversation in a direction he favoured. “Your Uncle is in charge of foreign affairs and close advisor of the King, and my father is the ambassador. The friendship is not with me. If he favours me it is for my father’s benefit. They became quite close during his visits to Fortaine while they bartered with the Akielons.” Quickly, he was regretting not jumping on the opportunity Auguste provided to escape from this exact scenario. It was humiliating. Likely, after this, any shred of admiration that Auguste had held for him would lie in shreds. Perhaps that was his little brother’s intention all along.

-

Auguste sighed, throwing one of his last grapes at Laurent before he could find another angle to prod at. His brother was worse than a dog with a bone, and if he didn’t stop it now, they’d be here all afternoon. And he really did want some actual respite while they were away from the palace. “Find a new topic.”  
  
Laurent slanted an offended look at Auguste when the grape hit his forehead, catching it before it hit the ground. “Fine. Lukas misses you,” he said with a smile.   
  
Auguste felt a touch of heat in his neck, narrowing his eyes at Laurent. “I’m sure Nicaise misses you as well.”   
  
Laurent’s lips twitched, something not quite like distaste touching his expression. He flicked the grape back at Auguste, snorting when he caught it in his mouth. He eyed Aimeric again before settling back against his tree to finish his food in silence.

-

Aimeric wanted to drop it, he really did, but there was a name there he couldn’t ignore, an implication, half an answer written in the colour that had flooded Auguste’s skin. His hand tensed in his lap, his body shifting as he sought out a more comfortable position, finding none. There was nothing for it. He had to ask.   
  
“Who is Lukas?”   
  
He could feel his defences crumbling, his question exposing the tenderness of himself, the wounds ripe for Laurent’s pecking, but he didn’t care. Instead, he kept his eyes firmly on Auguste’s face, measuring his response, throat tight. _Please let it be a friend. A cousin. Anything. Not a pet, please._

-

Auguste stiffened at the simple question, staring at his brother’s smirk, though he at least had the good sense to at least feign guilt as he finished his food.  
  
“One of our father’s pets,” Laurent said, casually, tossing the empty cloth to the rock as he stood. He brushed the dirt from his pants and moved for his horse. “I’m heading back. Do let me know ahead of time if our plans change next time,” he said, giving Auguste a sweet smile as he settled into his saddle and headed back to the ruins.   
  
Auguste rubbed at his temple as the sound of Laurent’s horse faded, breathing in a slow, deep breath as he finally risked a look to Aimeric. “It’s... not like that,” he murmured, knowing there was no reason for Aimeric to believe him. He didn’t keep pets for himself, and Lukas was the only one he’d ever... used, even if it was just a facade to keep the courtiers from taking too much interest in his sex life, or lack thereof.

-

This hurt was familiar, but somehow, it felt worse, acute, like it might tear his chest apart. Part of it was mourning. Whatever had been between them, silly flirting though it might have been, it had been torn up cruelly at the roots, barely fresh from its youth. Another part of him just felt humiliated. A stupid scruffy boy noble from the borders had thought he might enchant the Prince himself away from his chosen pet. And then, the part of him which had known that this was inevitable, to be expected, hurt the most. Blond hair and sharp eyes, pink lips parting as fingers he adored pressed another honeycomb past them; the image flooded his mind and wouldn’t go away.   
  
Who was Lukas? What was he like? Was he beautiful? Did he make Auguste laugh, did he make him speak in that low voice that made Aimeric shiver?   
  
But Aimeric knew he could reveal none of this. Later, perhaps, he could cry about it in his quarters alone, but for now, he hid his turmoil behind glassy eyes. He picked at his bread, knowing that he should eat, feign an appetite. “What’s wrong? It’s nothing. All the court keep pets, some of the nobles at Fortaine did too. I was… I was a fool for asking. I ought to have guessed.” If he said much more, his feelings would come flowing out alongside his words, so he stopped himself. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making your brother’s mood foul, too. It… it isn’t what I wanted from today”

-

Auguste sighed, forcing down the annoyance with his brother and the ache at the thought that... whatever had been forming between them had just been crushed. It was on the tip of his tongue to explain it, but the words wouldn’t form. It would be giving too much away, wouldn’t it? He wasn’t sure he could risk it; if he _should_ risk it, even if he wanted to. He couldn’t even say that Lukas was a friend, now; who would consider a pet as a friend?   
  
He had to hand it to Laurent - he certainly had learned how to cut quick and deep. He felt the first stirring of wariness for what his brother was becoming and hoped when they’d weathered the next few years, they came out with trust between them still intact.   
  
“It wasn’t what I wanted either,” he said softly, folding the remains of his food back up in the cloth and setting it aside. He stared out at the creek as the sun rose higher, the warmth of the day starting to chase away the lingering coolness of morning. He was loathe to return, but he wasn’t sure he could stand to sit here like this either, the weight of things unspoken heavy on his chest.

-

When did life ever unfold as you wanted it? Aimeric sighed, abandoning the efforts to pick at the bread and instead flopping back onto the grass. He spread out his fingers, palms flat, feeling the cool earth beneath him, the cool water of the creek chiming somewhere past his head. This time their ride had spared his head, and the chestnut locks that remained untied spilled out, a few strands catching on the crest of his lip, trapped there. Above them, the trees dappled the early afternoon sky, a breeze toying them, now and again, whispering through the leaves.   
  
"It's beautiful here." He spoke almost by accident. Even if the imagery was quaint and glorious, the temptation to shut his eyes and bask in the sounds and the gathering warmth of the day was too much. "Come join me? Let's lie here and talk." If it was ended, then that was fine. Nothing in Aimeric's life was inside of his control; but that only made it easier to be honest.   
  
If, after they rode back to the palace, they would be like strangers again and pass without a smile or a word, then he would at least extract one more happy memory to clutch to his chest at night. "Please"

-

Auguste glanced to Aimeric when he moved, unable to keep from watching as he stretched out like he usually did himself, basking in the quiet. His eyes lingered on the wisps of hair, fingers itching to brush them away and linger there themselves.   
  
He tore his eyes away, forcing his fingers to unclench where they'd curled into a fist. The offer to talk was almost too much, knowing neither of them were likely to break the barriers standing between them. Perhaps he should leave; he was half-sure his brother was waiting in the ruins for one of them, determined to spend his morning with Auguste one way or another.   
  
He was shifting to his feet to do just that, convinced this had been a mistake and intending to patch up what he could with Laurent, when he heard the quiet plea. He glanced to Aimeric again, closing his eyes as he remembered his brother's words of playing with fire. 

Perhaps that was a weakness in him too.  
  
He moved to stretch out on the ground, so their bodies made one long line, his head resting next to Aimeric’s. He bent his outside elbow, using his hand as pillow as he stared up through the leaves. “What would you like to talk about?”

-

Aimeric waited until Auguste had laid down beside him, comfortable, allowing a moment of silence to stretch between them as if to test whether he was really going to stay. Then, he began.   
  
"You've never been to Fortaine, have you?" If he had, then Aimeric would have known. They were close enough in age, and he had never left home until now. "It's no Arles, but the fort is still beautiful. The climate is a little warmer there, but it rains more. Exciting things rarely happen. Sometimes a visit from some barbarian envoy, but that's nothing special. The mountain tribes come now and again too, less often, but we trade with them sometimes. My brothers bought Silver from them." The memories were a flood, a thousand images of stained glass windows and rain soaked glass, echoing stone and the hum of the ocean, alive at his feet.   
  
"But the most exciting thing to ever happen to me was the day the Royal party arrived. I remember watching them approach on the road from my mother's solar. The starburst banners looked like a dozen new suns rising up over the horizon." Aimeric was smiling, his green eyes hazy as he seemed to relive it in his mind. "I put on my best doublet. I brushed Silver until she shone like real silver. My brother teased me and told me that it was the King himself, the King and his sons. I was so, so excited. I spent the last few minutes I had cleaning my room and hiding anything I thought was too childish, so when I received the Princes in my room, they would think I was _very impressive_ ."   
  
The smile had changed, turned sad. At his waist, Aimeric's fingers had curled together, clutching tightly at something invisible. "But you weren't there, or your brother, or your father. Just your Uncle." His voice caught, as though he were on the edge of saying something more, and caught himself just in time.

-

Auguste drew his knee up as he listened, bracing his heel on the ground, resting his other hand on his stomach. He'd never been to Arles, or much of anywhere really, though he'd spent last fall in Patras, testing his own skills on negotiation and diplomacy without someone looking over his shoulder.   
  
He remembered the plans to visit the border five years ago, or was it six? Laurent wasn't quite ten yet, but his father had wanted to show them the true extent of their kingdom and how far their reach truly stretched. He'd been excited, Laurent moreso, antsy and wild in the way only young rambunctious boys could be the entire week before.   
  
Then Laurent had fallen ill; spent too much time in the water the days before despite living in the creeks the entire summer. He'd been bedridden with fever for three days, until their uncle took it upon himself to visit so as not to disappoint those expecting them.   
  
He closed his eyes with a soft sigh, feeling keenly the ripples of repercussions even for something as simple as a missed visit. “I wish I could have made it there,” he murmured, swallowing down the words _perhaps then we could have grown up as friends._ It was in the past, there was nothing to be done to change it. “Was my uncle at least a suitable replacement for two young princes?”

-

I wish. It was a mumbled prayer as empty as the wind. It changed nothing. It only made things hurt more, sharpened reality's bite, tearing flesh from bone as one realised just how different things might have been. Aimeric didn't want to think of that. The notion alone felt like betrayal. He _loved_ him. He _trusted_ him. So what if their relationship had blossomed a little strangely; he had promised him more than just pleasure in the dark, and even if none of it had come, not yet, it would. It had to. Aimeric would cling to it until his knuckles bruised and broke.   
  
"..Your Uncle is a very kind man. He watched me spar with my brother and gave me some pointers, even had a swordplay tutor brought from the palace for me after he left. He... He gave me many gifts. Including his hospitality now I am here in Arles." Why did those words feel so rehearsed, foreign and uncomfortable on his tongue?   
  
"But I still would have liked to have met you sooner. Somewhere else. Not here. I..." Aimeric inhaled, sharply, clenching his teeth as he attempted to master the tremble in his voice. What the hell was he thinking, what the hell was he _doing?_ His beloved had specifically told him to court Auguste's friendship and no more, not to reveal the tender, unguarded parts of himself.   
  
But he felt safe, here, lying in the grass, the beat of the sun on his face, Auguste's presence at his side. This didn't feel like Arles. "I'm not built for this. The palace, the scheming, the pretty words, any of it. I am out-matched, by everyone. I feel as though I'm already being played and I don't know what to do. Already I feel so over my head, and there's nothing I can do to gasp for air, I just have to weather it. I want to do well. I have to do well. But I... I'm frightened. Your brother frightens me. Your court frightens me. Hell, even the servants and the pets frighten me. You..." His voice trailed away.

-

He held back his derision only from habit. His uncle was only kind to those he had use for, kinder to those he found had potential for use, until the kindness vanished. It was simply the way of things in the palace, an unspoken truth of the nature of those living there. He'd grown up with it, and it was only recently, with Laurent's unguarded musings when they were alone, that he was beginning to see just how deep the pit of snakes truly went.   
  
_We're all being played,_ he thought, though he kept the words to himself. “You don't give yourself enough credit,” he said instead. “It's not often one lasts so long with my brother.” His lips twitched in wry amusement, though it faded as Aimeric trailed off.   
  
He tilted his head, knowing it was a mistake, until he was looking at Aimeric’s profile, their heads close enough he could see the stir his breath caused in Aimeric’s hair. “I frighten you, too?” he asked, voice hardly more than a whisper.

-

It was Aimeric's greatest folly yet, and he knew it, the moment he turned his head.   
  
They were close. So close he could see the pores of his pale skin, the ghosts of freckles. He could see the thousand different shades of blue in his eyes, as variable as the sea and the sky and everything else that dared be blue in the whole world. Aimeric couldn't breathe. What need did he have for air? All that he would need to sustain himself for the rest of his life could be found here, in this single perfect, impossible moment.   
  
"Yes. I am," his voice too was a whisper, sneaking out past parted lips. Every muscle was wrung taut, balanced on the point of a needle, or a knife; if he moved, then it would end. "For a different reason than the others though."

-

Auguste hardly dared breathe as Aimeric turned his head and their eyes met, far closer than ever before and likely closer than they ought to ever be. His fingers curled in the grass beside him, a poor substitute for the hair he'd rather bury them in.   
  
He took the chance to let his eyes wander, the line of his nose and gentle curve of his lips. There was a prick of color just beneath his eye, like a birthmark, and Auguste wanted to brush his fingertip over it before tracing the line of his cheek and jaw.   
  
He felt the words like stones in his chest, restricting his breathing with an ache beneath his ribs. He swallowed, hard, and only the fact he'd grown up with the knowledge he'd wear a crown one day kept him from flinching. He'd seen what fear could do to people and never wanted to be the cause of that.   
  
He didn't dare ask how he was different from the rest. “Am I truly so terrible?” he asked, looking away, back up at the trees. He should leave. He didn't need the answer to that, it was foolish to have even given voice to it.

-

Auguste looked away, and it was as though he tore a shred of heart away with him. Aimeric exhaled, a soft noise that skirted close to pain stealing out alongside the breath before he could restrain it. He jerked his own face back to the canopy, discovering with every rise and fall of his ribs a new way to ache. He wanted to tell him. He wanted to collapse into his arms and seek out the thoughtless, delirious joy of the night before, just one more second of it, one more.   
  
Why did it hurt so much? It had only been a day. One night they had spent together, one night and one morning, but Aimeric had never felt anything so keenly in his life. Was it because Auguste had been an escape? Was it because he'd been torn from him? Was it because his beloved had warned him that this would happen, that no other man could love him, and Aimeric had seen the glimmer of a chance to prove him wrong?   
  
Every part of Auguste was frightening. The blue of his eyes. The strength in his broad, straight shoulders. His laughter and how it came so easily when they'd been alone. His kindness, which Aimeric had heard rumours of but had now seen for himself. Most frightening of all was the way he made Aimeric feel.   
  
He couldn't stay. Not now. This fantasy was over.   
  
"...My Prince." The words choked him, but still he stood. Silver whinnied at his approach, shying as her master, stiffer than usual, began to untie her reins with shaking hands.

-

Auguste kept still in the silence, curling his hands into fists when Aimeric stood, every muscle pulling tight with the effort to stay exactly where he was. He had his answer. That single word, a title he heard more than his own name, hammered the stones in his chest firmly into place.   
  
He forced his breathing to remain steady and even, despite the pain that accompanied each and every one. His teeth clenched and he felt the ache starting in his jaw, but he focused on the pain rather than the desire to tell Aimeric to stop. What else was there left to say?   
  
He closed his eyes instead, waiting for the sound of Aimeric’s horse to fade and leave him well and truly alone.

-

“Silver, stop.”  
  
The mare shook her head as if to defy him directly, pulling hard against the reins, which Aimeric had pulled tight, battling against her strength. He knew that the horse was sensing his discomfort, and was worried by it, but Aimeric couldn’t help it. Breathing came at the cost of a threat of tears every time he inhaled, and he was tense as a result. He would only be able to relax once he was safely back in his room, away from prying eyes, where he could mourn the death of whatever this had been properly.   
  
As they reached the ruins, Silver only grew more irate as Aimeric attempted to steer her around completely, circumventing a journey through the stone work. When she got like this, there was little Aimeric could do. Some men might beat their horses into submission, wrench on their mouths and force their obedience, shred their flanks with spurs until they bled.   
  
Aimeric would never do such a thing, not to Silver. Maybe he wasn’t able to master a powerful mount after all. The realisation was so absurd and so devastating that he felt as though he might vomit.   
  
Sliding from her back, Aimeric took the reins in hand and slowly led her forward, grateful for the nudge of soft nose against his arm, comforting him. A short respite in the shade of the stones would hopefully settle her enough that she would carry him the rest of the way.

-

Laurent glanced up at the sound of a horse approaching, sooner than he'd expected. He narrowed his eyes where he reclined on a large marble slab that likely had been a wall at some point. His horse grazed nearby, ears flicking at the sound of another horse as she lifted her head to watch them.   
  
He didn't move other than to draw his leg up, hooking the boot of his heel on the edge of marble, stripping another filament from the long blade of grass he'd picked up, eyes fixed on Aimeric.   
  
Auguste, he knew, would wait at least an hour for Aimeric to return to the palace, likely cursing himself the entire time, which was what usually happened when he got burned.

-

The Prince was one of the last people that Aimeric wanted to interact with at that moment, but stumbling straight into his midst, he had no choice. Quickly, he wiped any surprise and horror from his face, sweeping his body downward into a polite bow. It was tempting to say nothing at all, but Aimeric knew that silence would reveal more than a few measured, practised pleasantries might.   
  
"My Prince." It was a battle to steady his voice, to seem unperturbed. He suddenly became aware of a blade of grass caught in his hair, tickling his neck, likely torn from its stem when he'd risen from the ground earlier. "It was an honour to spend time with you and your brother today. Thank you for allowing it."

-

Laurent pulled another thin stand free and let the wind catch it, eyes flicking over Aimeric with a blank expression as he took in his appearance. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if Auguste had finally gotten him on his back, but he still wasn't sure what plot Aimeric was a part of and there was little point in it without Auguste there to witness it.   
  
He sat up as Aimeric bowed, a smile finding its way to his lips. “I hope we haven't left a sour impression.” He glanced past Aimeric as if searching for his brother, raising an eyebrow when he was obviously not there. “Is my brother still in one piece?”

-

Laurent's games were subtle, but Aimeric could still catch the feints in his attack, every word dripping with hidden, venomous mocking. Aimeric wanted to act the boy, to tell him to shove his sour impression and his court and his snake-speak straight up his arse, but he held his tongue. He was emotional, and Laurent had to know that. After all, he had orchestrated this result himself.   
  
Still, the bait had been laid and Aimeric was easily tempted. "Why on earth wouldn't the Crown Prince be in one piece?" His voice was smooth as silk, striking forward confidently. "My Prince, there is no need to be jealous of me any longer. I'll no longer be intruding on your rides. Congratulate yourself."

-

Laurent tilted his head, his smile shifting to a frown of confusion. “Jealous? Why on earth would I be jealous of a pawn?” He let out a breath and flicked what remained of the grass from his fingers. “Though that may be for the best,” he continued, bracing his elbow on his knee and his chin on his fist as he let his eyes travel over Aimeric.   
  
“One who can hardly think for himself has no place among the company of princes, wouldn't you agree?” He offered a blithe smile, waiting for Aimeric’s reaction, not that he expected much. If Aimeric had had any notions of changing alliance, he would have done so when he'd had the chance.

-

"You know nothing about me!" It spurted out like blood from a wound; he couldn't hold it in. Aimeric’s body was as tense as though every muscle had been welded together with iron. He stared at the boy in front of him, so nonchalant, so dismissive of him and everything he was that even his challenge was nothing but an amusement.   
  
Aimeric would submit himself to this no more. He was already dangerously teetering on the edge of treasonous disrespect as it was. "I'm tired, forgive me. I'll be returning back to the palace now," he muttered, offering a cursory bow of his head before he began to pull at Silver's reins, cursing softly when the mare resisted, ears flattening against her skull. Now, on top of all the other humiliations, it appeared that he couldn't control his horse.

-

Luarent raised an eyebrow, expression all but screaming _Don’t I?_ but he held his tongue. He’d watched his uncle push men on trial to the point of breaking often enough to know when they were past the point of being reliable or coherent. He sat back against the marble again, eyes flicking to the horse with a slight frown. “I’d have thought a horse that could beat my own would be better trained,” he murmured.

-

The jibe against Silver was the last straw. "She is well trained. She's better than any of your fancy palace horses. She's just afraid of vipers who hide in the grass and pretend to be harmless". He could hardly believe his own ears. If his father heard of this, if anyone at the court did, he would be dragged back to Fortaine by his hair to live out his disgrace in solitude at the top of one of the towers.   
  
Abandoning the attempt to simply drag Silver along, he seized the reins and vaulted back up onto her back, digging in his heels as sharply as he dared. Silver whinnied in panic, taking off at once, the fury of her flight taking Aimeric by surprise and leaving him clinging to her saddle. At least, though, they had escaped.

-

Auguste didn’t move for several long minutes, until his breathing came easier and he didn’t feel like smashing his fist into the nearest tree. The ache would linger, he knew, but it was the price he had to pay. A tiny, glimmering part of him wondered if it was all just a misunderstanding, if they could find some middle ground, but he put out the flame and buried it before it could take root. He was the crowned prince, he had more important things to do than chase after dalliances of the heart. The Akielon prince would arrive soon, and he found himself looking forward to the distraction. Damianos - said to be among the best of the fighters Akielon had. Well, they were near enough the same age, surely they could find something in common.   
  
He let out a deep sigh and sat up, brushing dirt off himself and packing away the remnants of the food before swinging into his saddle. He trotted out of the woods, unsurprised to find Laurent waiting for him, though he didn’t stop, only slowed until his brother had mounted up. “That was unnecessary,” he said, not bothering to try and keep the chastisement out of his voice.   
  
Laurent shrugged. “He’s cornered and alone. You should stay away from him.”   
  
“If that’s true, it seems like he’d be better off with a friend.”   
  
“Only if the friend isn’t the heir.”   
  
Auguste sighed, not in the mood to argue, urging his horse faster instead, intent on burying himself in whatever work he could find in the palace. There’d be another round of proceedings and feasting in a few days, as the last of the outlying areas sent their chosen candidates to witness the arrival of the Akielon prince. Surely he could find something to distract him until then.


	3. Chapter 3

Days drew by, slow as the squeeze of poison from a wound. Aimeric made no attempts to design himself as coping. The hurt was too great. He visited his beloved as he demanded, spun some tale about the time spent with Auguste and Laurent, then quickly returned to his bed. At least here he was safe from the stares, the whispers. He had ridden out with both Princes, and come back alone. The Crown Prince had taken his pet to bed. His beloved supplied him with that tidbit, a piece of information that hurt so badly it felt as though his lungs were crushed and torn inside of his chest, unable to breathe for hours except to sob.   
  
He thought about jumping. His balcony was high enough. Alone, in the most dangerous place in the kingdom without an ally or any way to get one, what other exit was there?   
  
On the fifth day, he was woken by the urgent sound of knocking on the door, the nervous but frantic bleating of the servant on the other side wrenching him from sleep. “What... what is it?” Aimeric untangled himself from the blankets, scrubbing at the sleep from his eyes as he swung his feet over the edge of the bed, leaning across to raise the fine glass jug of water to pour himself a drink. His throat felt raw, another night spent sobbing, interspersed occasionally with desperate cries of frustration muffled into a pillow as he used his hand.   
  
“Your brother, Etienne, he arrived this morning, we were told not to wake you, but—”   
  
The glass shattered as it hit the marble, but Aimeric didn’t hear it.   
  
There wasn’t any time to tie his hair, hardly even any time to wash himself at all. He pulled on the first items of clothing he found, barking at the servant who’d come to inform him of Etienne’s arrival to assist him in doing up the laces. He couldn’t on his own at a speed that would please him, his fingers were trembling far too much.

Why would Etienne come here? Father would never have allowed such a gesture. Even if they had not parted on the terms that they had, Etienne was volatile, angry. He couldn’t be trusted to suffer the honeyed words and veiled pleasantries at court, not for five minutes.   
  
But then, neither was Etienne likely to act of his own accord, not entirely. His distrust of Arles and those who dwelt here was enough that he would avoid it at all costs. His brother had been summoned here, and not by him, and the realisation was enough to make Aimeric’s blood rush cold as ice through his veins. Who, and why?   
  
Aimeric entered the audience room in a flurry, the floor disappearing out from underneath his feet as every pair of eyes seemed to turn to look at him. He saw Auguste and Laurent, and the king’s brother, but not the king himself, seated up by the thrones. There too was his beloved’s pet, golden paint glinting in the lamp light. He was smirking.   
  
And there, was Etienne. His brother was taller than he was but built much the same, though his face was carved with harsher edges, his body thicker with the muscles that age and fighting had lent him. Aimeric didn’t even have the time to speak before Etienne rushed toward him, seizing him by the shoulders.   
  
“Aimie, look at you. Look at what mere days in this place has done to you. When did you last eat?”   
Aimeric shook his head, a hand rising to attempt to peel Etienne’s fingers away, eyes filled with doubt. “Etienne, what—”   
“Let’s go, Aimeric. We’re leaving. I won’t let you stay here in this pit any longer”

-

Five days passed slow enough to seem like a fortnight, and Auguste found himself dragging Lukas along with him when he retired each night, the need to have warmth against his skin and unguarded conversation too much to ignore, though they hardly even spoke. He couldn’t help wondering if Lukas would have attended him if he’d been anything other than a pet, if his fingers would have been half so soothing in his hair as he drifted to sleep.   
  
“Do you fear me, Lukas?” he’d asked, half-remembered, on the cusp of sleep. He’d stared at Lukas’ bright green eyes, the mess of black hair, and found he was thankful he looked nothing like Aimeric. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it, an imitation of something he’d never have.   
  
“Fear you?” Lukas snorted, pressing his lips to Auguste’s forehead. “I fear for you, but you’re as harmless as a kitten unless you get angry. Then you’re an angry wet kitten.”   
  
He’d closed his eyes then, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Could have you hung for such blasphemy on my character.” He’d drifted to sleep to the sound of Lukas’ laughter.

He’d done his best to avoid Aimeric at court, though it’d been easier than expected, and an absent comment let him know Aimeric had been keeping to his rooms. It was for the best, perhaps. It kept him from stirring up rumors, and it forced Laurent to find somewhere else to sharpen the blade of his tongue.  
  
He wasn’t quite surprised when Aimeric’s brother stormed in, stirring up all the trouble that Aimeric had failed to produce the past few days. He slanted a look to Laurent, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a bored expression. Whatever was going on, if Laurent knew, he wasn’t letting on.   
  
Auguste glanced between Aimeric and his brother, noting the similarities and the differences, curling his hand against his hilt as Aimeric’s brother grabbed hold of him. He saw the guards taking interest, too, though they stayed their ground for the moment, even as he heard the whispers starting and knew a crowd would be gathering soon.

-

"Etienne, please-" Quickly, this was spiraling from his control. The nobles close by were raising eyebrows, feigning polite ignorance averting their eyes and hiding whispers behind the flutter of their fans. No. He had to put a stop to this before it was too late. His reputation was suffering enough merely appearing in court as unkempt as he was. "Etienne let's go back to my rooms and talk, alright? Please, calm down, I'm sure whatever is wrong is-"   
  
"'Whatever is wrong'?" His brother's voice was incredulous. His hand slid from Aimeric's slender shoulder to gesture behind him, and as his eyes followed the path of his finger, he could almost feel the breath being torn from his lungs. " _That_ is what's wrong, Aimie. I can't leave you here with him, with them. You're being used, just like back then, don't you understand?"   
  
Those words were treason enough on their own. Aimeric tried to speak, his eyes flickering between Etienne's face and the faces lined around the throne, desperate for an ally.   
  
"Come with me to Patras. Father will forgive you for it. Come on."

-

Auguste kept his face impassive as he did when fights broke out in the training area or among his own men. He held his tongue, stayed his hand, since the threat of violence hadn’t yet surfaced. He noticed Laurent shift in the corner of his eye, ever so slightly, catching onto something said or done, though he was more occupied by Aimeric’s eyes when they passed over him. He looked pale, and frightened. _He’s cornered and alone._   
  
He clenched his jaw, striding forward before even more courtiers could join the fray. “Perhaps this is a discussion better suited to a private room,” he said voice quiet but no less authoritative because of it, coming to stand close beside them. “Unless you’d like to be the entertainment for the evening?” he added with a sharper edge, eyes flicking over Aimeric’s brother in an assessing manner.

-

“You...” Any laughter around them died the moment Etienne realised Auguste’s approach, his voice low with menace as he turned around to face him. What provoked such a response, Aimeric had no idea, but visions of his brother’s head being sliced clean from his shoulders was enough to spur him to act.   
  
That, and he felt his eyes on him, cold blue, slicing through his skin. The man beside the throne, who’d given him everything only after he’d taken everything else away.   
  
“Etienne, enough. Stop it.” Aimeric grappled at his brother’s arm, tugging him back, his voice clearly on the edge of panic. He had to break the stare that Etienne was holding with Auguste, seething with raw hatred, before it had the guards thrusting Etienne to his knees. There was still time, just, if he could diffuse this now. He took a step forward to stand between them, attempting to push and guide Etienne toward the door. It’d be accepted by the court if he came back later to throw himself to the ground and beg forgiveness. It would be fine.

-

Auguste stared at Aimeric’s brother, bracing himself for a fight and the ensuing chaos if he decided to be as hot-headed as he seemed. His eyes flicked to Aimeric when he moved between them. “You should listen to your brother before you get yourself thrown in a cell,” he said quietly, glancing to the guards already taking a step forward, tension in every one of them from the moment he’d involved himself. But what good was a Prince who couldn’t keep order in his own father’s court?   
  
“Why don’t I show you to private quarters, where you can air your grievances in peace?” he offered, motioning to the large, open doorway that was already becoming crowded by those passing eavesdroppers who’d caught the commotion.

-

"My grievances, your majesty?" Etienne would not be cowed, ignoring Aimeric's pleading, the desperate shoving. He was trying to protect him, again, but Etienne had no notion of the damage he was causing to them both simply by the words he spoke. "No, I think I should air my 'grievances' in front of your entire court, so then every ear in Arles might know the _depravity_ that-"   
"Etienne." His voice was serious now, edged with naked terror as the guards advanced closer, hands on their weapons. He was going to watch Etienne die here. His brother was going to be murdered in front of them unless he could somehow put a stop to this display. "Leave it. You can't speak to the Crown Prince in that manner. Etienne, you're disgracing us all, why can't you just-"   
  
Finally, Etienne's gaze had fallen to him, but it was not the look that Aimeric had expected. Instead of anger, disgust, levelled with pity. A hopelessness. Aimeric was shaking his head, denying it, before Etienne even began to speak, knowing what he saw. His voice was soft, quiet enough that only those near might catch his words. "It's true, then. Him, too, Aimeric?"   
  
Aimeric's hand cracked across his brother's face to the sound of gasps and restrained laughter. Of course they would giggle. This was nothing to them. An entertainment to giggle over later while they sampled sweetmeats.

-

Auguste saw the hit coming, told himself he could have stopped it, if he’d wanted to, but he made no move until after it landed, grasping Aimeric’s shoulders as the guards advanced to keep the fight from going further. He gave a look to the one reaching for Aimeric, keeping his hands where they were, turning him and guiding him to the door as the guards seized Etienne’s arms before he could retaliate.   
  
He waited until they were out of the audience chamber and down the hall before motioning all but one of the guards away, letting him keep hold of Etienne as he released Aimeric. The few courtiers they passed gave them a wide berth, and he knew he was scowling, annoyed at having been involved in such a scene. Worse, because it involved Aimeric.   
  
He reached the door to a private sitting room and pushed it open, giving it a cursory glance to ensure it was empty before motioning them inside. The guard he posted at the door and found a servant to have refreshments brought. Then, he turned his attention to them, looking from one to the other. “If I leave you alone, will I come back to find one of you strangled?” he asked, all hint of teasing or good humor gone from his voice.

-

Both Aimeric and Etienne submitted to the change of location without complaint, and Aimeric allowed himself a glimmer of hope. Perhaps, away from the prying eyes and a moment to digest some humbling clarity, Etienne would calm himself and explain to him what was wrong, or at least, what had brought him here. The reason for his anger was straightforward enough, it had been a battle between them for many years, but it still didn’t offer explanation as to why that anger would spring anew and lead him here.   
  
When finally they came to the small room, and Etienne was released, Aimeric took one look at him and all hope died.   
  
“There is no need,” Etienne’s voice was thick, heavy with repressed emotion, his green eyes, darker than his own, fixed on Aimeric with a new malice so galling that he felt his stomach stir with nausea, the urge to vomit. “I don’t find myself in the habit of speaking alone with whores. I’ll be leaving the palace and the city at once.”   
  
“Etienne!” The need to restrain him for his reputation was abandoned. Now there was real hurt in Aimeric’s voice as he intercepted Etienne’s departure bodily. This was too perfect. There were guiding hands behind this, somehow. “How could you? Please, don’t, I beg of you, _plea_ -”   
  
Even if Etienne’s eyes swam with hurt, his voice was steady. Aimeric braced himself for the blow, but was not prepared even when it came, eyes widening as each word sank into his flesh like the piercing of fangs. “You would have shamed me less if you’d renounced your rank and become a pet. You’re a man now, and you’ve chosen your place: on your knees for that _bastard_ and apparently, his nephew. So be it. You are no longer my brother while you let this place swallow you”   
  
Aimeric said nothing. The words wouldn’t come. Etienne waited a moment, clenched his teeth, and shoved past him, his little brother’s body easily yielding, as if there had been so strength behind him at all.   
  
The sound of the door slamming made him flinch.

-

Auguste stepped back as Etienne made for the door, watching silently as the brothers had it out with each other, or Etienne had it out with Aimeric, at least. Some small part of him wanted to step in, protect Aimeric - the same tiny part of him that still hoped there could be something between them. That tiny flame extinguished as he listened, a frown pulling at his lips, the weight of the stones that had hardly lessened over the past days somehow growing heavier at that last remark.   
  
So the rumors had already started. Even after less than a full day together, they’d managed to become the gossip of... someone. He felt the weight of carefully cultivated plans in this - of a brother coming to court and nearly saying such things in full view of courtiers and royalty alike. Laurent had been right not to trust Aimeric, it seemed. Even if he was a pawn in all this, it was dangerous to be near him, and there was a dual ache in his chest at being unable to help him and knowing he likely would never be able to trust him.   
  
“I never thought I would see such a blatant attempt to slander my reputation, or that of my family,” he said quietly.

-

Aimeric didn’t hesitate to drop to his knees, ignoring the shocks of pain that rippled up his thighs at the impact against the marble. Why should he care? He hardly noticed. There was a threat weaved between Auguste’s words that he had to address. It didn’t matter if Etienne had already abandoned him; Aimeric could not live and do the same to him.   
  
“Please.” He didn’t try to hide the tears in his voice; in front of Auguste, they felt safe to shed, even now. Absurd, that being near him again brought him comfort in circumstances such as these, as he begged on the ground at his feet like a dog. “My brother is a good man, he was confused. I don’t know what he was talking about, but I know he would never mean your family or the kingdom harm. He loves Vere. Please, please don’t have him killed. He meant no treason, I swear, I _swear.”_

_-_

Auguste let out a slow breath, closing his eyes a moment even as his body tried to react to the sight of Aimeric on his knees. How much had been said in front of the others? Enough, he was sure, to feed the mill of rumors for days, if not weeks. Long enough to keep them entertained until the Akielon prince arrived, at least. He was sure no one would guess that Etienne had been implicating his uncle; if there was any chance of that, Etienne’s life was already forfeit.   
  
“Stand up,” he murmured after a moment, motioning Aimeric to take a seat. A door to the side opened, a serving pet slipping inside, setting a tray of warm meats and cheeses with crackers and a pitcher of watered wine on the low table. “Eat something, you look about to faint.”   
  
He pinched the bridge of his nose, a rare sign of frustration that only Laurent and the council were privy to seeing. What was he supposed to do? There was no way to tell how far the rumors Etienne had brought had truly spread, or how much upheaval they would cause, not until it was too late.

The order came, but Aimeric failed to obey. He couldn’t rise, not yet, not until he heard confirmation that his brother was safe. Even now, in his journey down to the stables to mount his horse, he could be stopped, dragged to the nearest block, dispatched with dull efficiency. Out of Arles, his chances weren’t much better. Only after he’d crossed the border into Patras would he be safe, but if the Crown sent out an order for his death, Etienne would not make it there.   
  
“Please.” The word repeated, dropping from his lips heavy as stone, as Aimeric crept forward the few inches it took to press his forehead against Auguste’s boot. “I’ll do anything, please. Tell them not to kill my brother. Send out a guard with the order to let him go. He’s the one I spoke about, the one who used to play hide and seek with me by the ocean. If you have affection for me at all, then please.”   
  
Aimeric took a breath, measuring how much he dared, how much risk he was willing to hinge on his pleading. “ _Auguste.”_

_-_

Auguste bristled, jaw clenching at seeing Aimeric reduced to... this. And daring to use his _affection_ against him, as well as his name. He stepped back, sharply, swearing under his breath as he moved to the door. He closed it behind him, scanning the halls for one of his personal Guard. He spotted Bastien not too far away and called for him.   
  
It only took a minute to explain, and then Bastien was gathering two other royal guards to take with him to find Etienne and see he had proper protection getting out of the city. Bash knew the city better than most, knew what areas to avoid, and knew a few safe areas to stash someone in if needed, until they could figure something out. If they made it off the palace grounds alive, it would be a start.   
  
That done, he took a moment to calm himself, at least as best he could, before turning back to the room.

-

The hurt was a familiar one. He didn’t move even when the door swung open, only closing his eyes to stem the flow of the sob that threatened to overcome him. He had saved Etienne, but at what cost? Auguste would never look at him in the same way again, even his contempt was too much to hope for. Whoever had contrived this had done so for the very same reason he had seated him beside a pet at dinner.   
  
_‘Whoever’._ Aimeric’s fingers clenched into fists as he glared down at the marble, watching the way his tears magnified the whorls of colour. Damn it, he knew exactly who had done this.   
  
The guards that the Prince had sent rushing off to do his bidding were forced to dodge around an approaching retinue, bowing their heads. Auguste’s uncle was advancing down the corridor, attendants hurrying in tow, though the minister’s gait seemed sedate as always; unworried.   
  
“Nephew,” he greeted, smiling thinly, as in sympathy, an unspoken apology for what he had gone through alone. “I couldn’t help but overhear that you’ve granted the traitor, who’d walk into our hall and slander our good name, the mercy of departure from our city. Very gracious of you, but I can’t say it’s wise.” He paused, gaze moving, languid, to the door. “The young noble Aimeric is my charge. I ought to have had him under better control, but I didn’t restrict his letters home out of kindness. He’s like a third nephew to me, I would have never imagined his fancies about you were so wild.” His eyes glittered. “I assure you, he will be kept close at hand from now on until our new allies arrive”

-

Auguste tensed as his uncle intercepted him before he could return to Aimeric, straightening as he turned to face him, catching sight of his brother lingering, just within earshot.   
  
His eyes focused back on his uncle as he approached, returning the smile with a sympathetic one of his own. “Men lose control of their tongues when impassioned,” he said. “If all unsubstantiated claims were treated as heresy, the cells of every fort between here and Akielon would be overflowing. Best to see him back home, where his wagging tongue may fall on deaf ears, don't you agree?”   
  
His smile thinned at the mention of Aimeric and his fancies. “Yes, they seem to have driven him into quite a state. I think it best he be given some time to compose himself after the stir his brother caused.”

-

The Minister tilted his head, smiling gently, as if amused by his nephew’s attempts to protect Aimeric’s modesty. “You think he’s owed the benefit of discretion when he’s shamed us both so publicly? Who knows the content of such a letter that inflamed his brother to this point? He must be questioned-” He paused, revising his words a moment later after he apparently realised how the meaning might carry. “Gently, I meant. Of course I will treat him as kindly as I would were he my own blood. He’s a young man, far from home for the first time, thrown into court without an ally. Perhaps he thought he found one in you, and schemed to better his position, and this is his tantrum now his hopes have been dashed.” He waved his hand as if to illustrate the breadth of possibilities speculation might take them.   
  
“Regardless, I would speak with him, nephew. You should return to the Court before tongues begin wagging. Have Lukas at your side”

-

Auguste bit his tongue at the speculations, searching for some way to keep Aimeric out of his uncle's clutches even for just a little longer, but he wasn't Laurent, didn't have near his brother's talent for spinning words and drawing arguments. And he had to wonder why he even wanted to, considering how much trouble just one day had caused already.   
  
“I think because he is adrift, he deserves every kindness afforded one of his station,” he said instead, nodding faintly to his uncle before stepping away from the door. “Perhaps you can restore his courage; his absence has already been noted.” He eyed his uncle at the mention of Lukas before taking his leave.

-

“I will do my best, my Prince.” His Uncle bowed his head, expression static as he carried out this routine act of deference, one the man seemed careful to exhibit often, but strategically, only in company. “He will return to Court by the day after tomorrow at your pleasure. Though I would advise to keep your distance from him. Obviously, he can’t be trusted.”   
  
Parting words dispensed with, the councillor waited until both Princes had taken their leave before he pushed open the door, all traces of a smile gone as his eyes found Aimeric, still crumpled on the floor, pathetic as a fallen leaf. He raised his head as he entered, and the mix of joy and fear and hatred that stole across his face was a sight to behold.   
  
Aimeric moved to rise from the floor, but his beloved curtailed his movements with a flick of his fingers. “No.” He closed the door behind him, and he and Aimeric were left alone. “Stay on your knees”

-

Auguste spared a glance at his brother before heading out of the palace, following the path Bastien had gone and nodding faintly as he found the rest of his Guard waiting. He dispatched them after Etienne as well, not trusting his uncle to leave well enough alone, and he didn't like leaving things half finished. He'd have gone himself, if it wouldn't have added more tinder to the fire already burning among the courtiers.   
  
Whoever was behind all this... He intended to find them, and he'd even consider letting Aimeric have the first stab at them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the reviews~! Basically each chapter will be when there's a major break in the RP or if it gets too long, so they'll be considerably different lengths... Also, we're terrible, so enjoy the angstfest, it'll last quite a while :3

Just as the King's brother had promised, Aimeric returned to court after a day's rest. Apparently, the official report had been that the ambassador's son had fallen very ill following his long journey north, which explained his lack of appearance in the week before, too. Of course the rumours would still fly about he and Auguste, why wouldn't they? There was no remedy to that, his beloved told him, other than avoiding the subject where he could.    
  
When he arrived in the hall, he was surprised to find that he was invited to sit with some other nobles of similar rank. He was not fool enough to believe they meant it as a kindness, however, and sure enough the idle talk turned to thinly veiled interrogation. Now and again, the talk appeared to deviate toward other matters, but Aimeric could sense their intent easily. If these fools intended to trip him, they would have to lay more subtle traps than merely asking him which pet he would most prefer to take to bed.    
  
_ They are trying to get me to at least admit to an attraction.  _ Aimeric smiled and glanced the question aside, stating vaguely that nobles of his age in Fortaine rarely kept pets. None knew enough of Fortaine to know or care, and so they accepted it as fact, and moved on.    
  
A few more hours until lunch and he would survive this. It might be possible.

-

Auguste kept Lukas close as bid, though he didn't like it. He'd come to associate Lukas as someone safe, like his brother, and he could feel the subtle way his body relaxed in his presence despite himself.    
  
Laurent had been oddly cold to him since the day before though he recognised the look in his eyes; he'd found the thread of a plot and was working on unraveling it.    
  
It wasn't until he caught sight of Aimeric he felt something tight finally loosen in his chest, and he breathed a soft sigh of relief.   
  
Lukas shifted beside him when he slowed on the way to the dais. “You're worried about him,” he said, eyes on Aimeric as he studied him. “Would you like me to take him a message?”   
  
Auguste snorted quietly, glancing to Lukas and the mischief in his eyes. “The prince sending his chosen pet to speak to a disgraced noble. Are you trying to start a scandal?”   
  
Lukas grinned and shrugged. “Perhaps. It's ever so stuffy here. I much prefer the solitude of a bed.”   
  
Auguste huffed a breath, thankful he was used to such comments from Lukas or they'd be starting a scandal of their own.

-

America's eyes were drawn to Auguste as a moth to a flame, insatiable, desperate for every moment he could drink him in. The world paled in the halo of his presence, and Aimeric didn't care if the noble next to him was staring, smirking oddly as his eyes tracked Auguste's slow walk to the dais, his every step a new blessing. What he wouldn't give to be beside him. Perhaps that might have been, if it hadn't been for Laurent that day.    
  
Then again, his beloved sought to entangled Auguste in his schemes. Aimeric exhaled slowly, reminding himself that this was better; this was safer. The further he was forced from Auguste, the less likely the councillor was to try and hurt him.    
  
Something in Aimeric's chest shifted as his gaze fell at last on the man by his side. The pet. Lukas. The noble beside him must have seen him tense, because she smiled and leaned closer, hiding the movement of her lips against his ear with the flutter of her fan. "That is Lukas, one of the King's pets, but Auguste favours him most. Have you heard, he's taken him to bed so much more recently. Seems our Prince finally has his taste for cock. Took a while. No one but Lukas has  _ ever _ been able to sway him.."    
  
Aimeric knew that he had paled. He breathed deeply, tearing his eyes away, unable to look anymore and trust himself to keep his voice steady. "Don't talk about my Prince that way. Who he beds is not our business."   
  
"Oh?," the laugh was without good-natured amusement, dripping instead with a cackle from the jaws of a wolf. "'Your' Prince? Aimeric, you're adorable.”

-

Aimeric reached the dais and pushed thoughts of Aimeric and plots from his mind as he focused on more important matters. Lukas sat beside him on a cushion and he couldn't help the way his fingers moved to his hair on occasion, an absent touch of affection that oddly soothed him despite the audience to it.    
  
When the court finally broke for lunch, he lingered, fingers curled tight in Lukas’ hair as he watched those filing out of the room.    
  
“Are you not hungry?” Lukas asked, tilting his head to brush his lips against Auguste’s wrist.    
  
“Not particularly.” He had half a mind to track down Laurent, ride out to the ruins for a bit, but the last of the formal proceedings would be soon and if he escaped now he likely wouldn't get a chance after the feast; shirking his duties always seemed to result in the next attempt being blocked.

-

Only now did he realise that Auguste had never touched him.    
  
The hands clasping on his shoulders to steer him from the room when Etienne had come didn't count; he could have been anyone, in that moment. They all said, after all, that the Prince was kind. The Prince was merciful. The Prince was a gentle man.    
  
Auguste's fingers curled into Lukas' dark curls, and Aimeric felt as though those same fingers were sinking into his chest, twisted and pulling.    
  
His beloved had never touched him like that either. Their engagements had been brief and brutal as the man had sought out his pleasure, leaving Aimeric to lick his wounds alone, but that was what he had come to know as sex. From Auguste, he still wanted it. He would endure whatever his uncle had wrought twice over just for five, blissful seconds of that tenderness.    
  
The kiss made Aimeric flinch, visibly, which he attempted to disguise by jerking hurriedly to his feet.    
  
It was a mistake, and he knew it, as he seemed to come to a few moments later and realised he was walking towards the dais where the Prince and pet still sat, idle and absorbed in one another. He found that when he drew to a halt at a distance close enough to address them that he had no idea what he had to say. Had he just been seized by some jealous madness that demanded he interrupt them, somehow?    
  
Aimeric swallowed as he dropped himself down to one knee. "My Prince. Thank you for the day before last, for your mercy and your pity. I will make up for my and Etienne's actions in any way you wish."

-

“Am I going to have to feed you by hand?”   
  
Auguste’s lips twitched in amusement as he tugged at Lukas’ hair. “You'd enjoy it too much.”   
  
Lukas grinned. “It's the only way to feel your lips on me, Highness,” he replied, flicking his tongue against Auguste’s palm as he kissed it.    
  
Auguste tore his eyes away as he saw someone moving towards him, straightening as he realised it was Aimeric and dropping his hand from Lukas. He forced an easy smile as Aimeric addressed him. “I only ask that you rest and recover. And perhaps foil any further attempts at plotting against me you find yourself involved in.” It wasn't fair, but he couldn't stop the words before they left his tongue. He knew Aimeric was being used, by his uncle certainly, and someone who wished to plant the seeds of unrest in his kingdom, though to what ends he couldn't fathom.

-

It would have hurt less if Auguste had struck him. Aimeric opened his mouth, then closed it, mind galloping through a thousand emotions as he attempted to settle on which to convey. Which he truly felt didn’t matter. No truths mattered here, not in Arles, not in the Palace, not in this room. Aimeric was learning that quickly.    
  
Still, he couldn’t help that whisper that fell past his lips, carried on a shuddering breath, before he could stop it. “I didn’t plot against you. I would never. Not you. It wasn’t like that.” Had Auguste listened to his words at all when they had spoke underneath the trees that day, that he was alone and lost and terrified and outmatched, or had he simply chosen to disbelieve them? “My feelings haven’t changed.” This was dangerous. At least the hall was emptying.   
  
Aimeric couldn’t blame him. He hardly believed his own thoughts and words either anymore, since at every twist and turn they either betrayed him or shocked him with the forced falseness that was becoming automatic.    
  
The boy straightened, raising his eyes, his gaze falling at once to Lukas before he quickly snapped it away to address Auguste’s knees instead. This time, he spoke louder. With any luck, the only one who would have heard his muttered outburst was himself. “I’ll do my best. I’m at your service in this as I am in all things.”

-

Auguste wanted to believe Aimeric, and on some level he did. Being alone in the palace would drive anyone to seek out what little comfort or alliance they could find, but Aimeric had been a tool before he ever arrived here, whether he realised that or not. Eventually, Auguste knew Aimeric would be used against him, in more than just an attempt of slander.    
  
Whatever feelings hadn't changed, part of him wondered if it'd be best he never knew what they were. “I know,” he said, hardly above a whisper. “Take care, Aimeric,” he added, louder, stopping himself from saying how much he'd hate to see Aimeric fall into a trap; he was already entangled in one.

-

Aimeric was already in the midst of a trap. He could feel the binds tightening every day as the thorns sank deeper, bleeding him out since he’d been ten years old. For a moment, Auguste had let him escape. For a moment, with Auguste, he’d remembered who he could be.   
  
Not anymore. It was over. That whisper confirmed it, the gentle dismissal that Aimeric knew meant farewell.  
  
“My Prince.”   
  
He rose, stiffly, turning on his heel and exercising every iota of control he possessed over his muscles to stop himself from running. He could feel Auguste’s eyes on his back, Auguste and his _pet_ , and he couldn’t stand it. He had wanted to impress him. It felt pathetic now. As if someone like him could ever impress a Prince.

-

Lukas stood as Auguste pushed to his feet, watching Aimeric until he turned to follow the prince out the back. “That was unpleasant,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he only got a soft grunt as response. “He's easy on the eyes.”   
  
“Shut up.”   
  
Lukas smirked and fell in half a step behind Auguste. “Seems sweet, too. I wouldn't mind if you sent me to him.”   
  
Auguste stopped, leveling a flat look at Lukas, jaw clenched as strange emotions stirred his chest. “I can see myself through lunch. And dinner.”   
  
Lukas sighed at the dismissal. “Highn-”   
  
“Go.” Auguste turned and walked away, cursing himself every step of the way.


	5. Chapter 5

As the days passed, Aimeric found that the pain dulled from less of a sharp sting that left him breathless, to more of a dull ache, his heart a stone, heavy in his chest. It hurt the same, but at least the latter lent him the ability to think, which was fast becoming essential as his days spent at court became longer.    
  
There was no word muttered that didn’t have some kind of double meaning; no glance that couldn’t be interpreted as a confession, or a betrayal. Aimeric was swept up into its midst, and at first his recent disgraces kept most but those similarly hobbled at bay. Soon, however, his father’s name and his pretty face brought the others creeping closer. At first, probably more out of curiosity than anything else. If the rumours were true, and this boy had fucked the Crown Prince, then what kind of person was he?    
  
Aimeric chose to show them someone naïve but charming, who was polite and declined most excess. He certainly charmed a few admirers, pets and old men alike, but he artfully kept them at arm’s length, declining invitations to private dinners and moonlit garden walks alike. There was only one person at Court who Aimeric wanted.  _ No, two _ .    
  
Tonight there was some party to welcome a noble from Varenne, apparently a good friend of the King’s brother, so the festivities were extravagant. Wine flowed and pets were decked out to perfection. It was Aimeric’s first real party since he’d come to court, and he wasn’t sure what to expect.

-

Auguste busied himself with tasks he'd rarely bothered with before, seeking out the advice of the council on different ideas to the point they made comments of him seeking the throne before his father was ready to relinquish it. His father merely laughed and praised him for the initiative.   
  
He kept his distance from Aimeric, from everyone really, aside from his brother and Lukas, and it was almost enough to lull him into a false sense of security, so similar it felt to the weeks before.    
  
He dropped into his seat for dinner with a soft sigh, glancing to Laurent as Lukas settled between them. “Where'd you disappear to yesterday?”   
  
Laurent glanced at him with a shrug. “I went for a ride.”   
  
He sighed, giving up trying to get information from his brother. Whatever he'd found, he wasn't ready to share yet. He reached for a glass of wine instead, glancing over those gathered for the larger feast in honour of their special guest. It wasn't until he noticed the ring had been set up for use that his lips curled briefly in distaste.    
  
He'd only taken a few bites and fed one to Lukas before the announcement came for the first match of the evening, and his entire body tensed as he heard Lukas’ name. He turned to look at him, seeing the shock mirrored on his face as Lukas paled. It was on the tip of his tongue to protest, but Lukas wasn't his.    
  
He watched Lukas push to his feet and force a smile before moving to the ring with catlike grace. His stomach sank as he saw the opponent - one of the regulars who had never lost a match.

-

Aimeric stiffened too when he heard the name, looking up abruptly from the midst of a conversation with some noble and brown-eyed pet. He had heard about these matches and their purpose, quietly dreading and steeling himself for the day he would finally witness one. But Lukas? Surely not. Aimeric couldn’t imagine that Auguste would allow such a thing, not to one he obviously cherished and favoured.    
  
He couldn’t deny that Lukas was beautiful. He was slender in body just as Aimeric was, but he had a darker colouring, his face and body more sharply angled. The opponent on the other hand was taller, still lithe but resting in his muscles was a quiet, coiled power. Lukas didn’t look as though he did much more in the way of exercise than ride on top of nobles when they requested it.    
  
Planning for this moment in his room the night before, Aimeric had intended to look away. It wasn’t as if all the court took interest in the games; for many it was simply background noise, nothing really of note unless someone they fancied was participating.    
  
Now, his eyes were closed to Lukas, anxiety and an absurd sense of protectiveness stirring in his stomach to disturb his dinner.

-

Auguste's fingers curled tight around his glass until he was sure it would shatter, until Laurent reached over and pried his fingers loose with a quick, deft touch. His breathing was shallow and his lungs ached as he forced himself to watch, mind scrambling in circles to figure out who would have the power or desire to attack him like this. He knew, undoubtedly, this was aimed at him, but why?   
  
The moment the fight started, his mind blanked, fingers grasping onto a fork instead as he watched. There was a moment he thought Lukas might gain the upper hand, though winning would be as terrible as losing, but then Lukas slipped and his back hit the ground, and his opponent was on him and then in him with a savage grin.   
  
It felt like an eternity of soft moans and what he was sure were stifled sounds of pain, his stomach twisting into knots until he was certain he'd be sick. He closed his eyes when it was finally over, expecting Lukas to return to him, but instead he was summoned to his father, kneeling between him and his uncle.

-

It happened as if in slow motion, the slick movement of skin on skin, and Aimeric flinched with every blow, desperate to tear his eyes away, but he couldn’t. The skin around his knuckles was stretched taut, bleaching white as he gripped onto the glass as if it was his last purchase on reality.    
  
Next to him, he felt a subtle shift of movement.    
  
“Do you like that?” It was the pet. He had seen him watching, seen him repressing something, and assumed it was lust. Perhaps. Just as likely, he could be teasing him, or testing him at the behest of his owner. Slowly, fingers snaked down between his thighs, pressing at the hard tension in his muscles, stopping just short of the crucial juncture.    
  
In the ring, it was over, the horror abated even if it played on and on in Aimeric’s mind. He recognised those noises. They’d come from his own lips, more than once.    
  
“Which would please you, my lord? To take the place of Anjou?” He felt his grin next to ear rather than saw it, tasted it in the slow drawl of his voice. “Or Lukas?”   
  
The hand squeezed, Aimeric inhaling sharply, the panic escalating like a wave cresting the horizon. 

“Yes, I think you’d want to take Lukas’ place, wouldn’t you? In more than just the ring, isn’t that right?”   
  
He was going to be sick.    
  
Aimeric stood up, ignoring the pet’s yelp of fury as he brushed him aside.

-

Auguste glanced up as if by a tug on his eyes, seeing Aimeric standing and absently wondering if he'd enjoyed seeing Lukas in that position, if he'd entertained the idea of Auguste not using him anymore, after. He pushed the thoughts aside as quickly as they came, forcing his hand to release the fork.   
  
When Lukas finally stood, he expected to be able to escape soon, but Lukas wasn't moving towards him, he was... following Aimeric.    
  
He was about to stand and follow when Laurent's voice stopped him.    
  
“Don't.”   
  
“Laurent-”   
  
Laurent looked at him, lips pressed into a thin line; he didn't like it anymore than Auguste did. “Finish your dinner.”   
  
He slumped back into his chair with a soft growl, appetite gone.    
  
Lukas managed to hide the limp in his step with an extra roll of his hips as he followed Aimeric, knowing he looked a mess. His dark hair was wilder than usual and the black accent he used around his eyes was smudged, but he wasn't going to let that bother him. He was a King’s pet, even if he felt violated and betrayed at the moment, unsure what he was being used for outside of putting a dagger in Auguste’s chest for the evening.

-

The gardens were quiet, for once. Usually at this time in the evening the avenues were swarming with visitors, seeking out benches and the illusion of privacy to enjoy very fervent moments with a pet, or a scheming conversation with a friend or enemy.   
  
Aimeric sought out neither. Somehow, his feet led him to the fountain where he and Auguste had first spoken. He remembered looking at the Prince, bathed in amber evening light, and thinking that day had finally come in his heart. Now, he knew, he had been the sunset: one last glorious, intense, beautiful light, burning the shadow from him, until it died away forever and left nothing but the night.    
  
Doubling over the flower bed, Aimeric’s stomach roiled and retched though thankfully nothing came up. The shame of vomiting in the King’s own gardens was a shame he couldn’t bear.    
  
Was that all that mattered to him now? Avoiding embarrassment, currying favour?

-

Lukas followed Aimeric to the gardens, standing a few feet away as he heard the sounds of being sick. He waited until it seemed to pass before stepping forward and sinking to his knees, head bowed as he braced himself for whatever reaction his presence might invoke. “Would you like me to fetch you some water, my lord?”    
  
He ignored the pain in his back and between his legs, focusing on the cool stone digging into his knees instead. Whatever shame was meant to settle in his chest at being so disgraced never took place; he'd been in the palace far too long to think he was anything but a tool, though he couldn't help the anger that he was being used against Auguste in such a way.

-

Whoever he had expected to finally spoil his solitude, and of course he had expected it, it hadn’t been Lukas. Aimeric straightened slowly, hesitating as he brought up a hand to swipe across his mouth. What did this mean? He didn’t like it one bit, not an inch. He could sense a scheme at work, pieces being carefully maneuvered into place, and the thought terrified him.    
  
Was Lukas a pawn too? Or was he a schemer himself? Aimeric stared at him there on the ground, unmoving, feeling completely at a loss for what to do or what to say. Without an idea of Lukas’ intentions, nothing felt safe.    
  
But at the same time, he recognised in Lukas the ghosts of himself. The twitch of the muscles in his face as he internalised his pain. Aimeric tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry.    
  
“...It hurts.” A statement, not a question. Aimeric had moved closer, carefully offering out his hand, his every movement tentative, as if he might withdraw his arm at any moment. “There’s a bench, here, and a cushion. Sit.”

-

Lukas tensed at the comment, lifting his eyes enough to study Aimeric’s face. He may have said Aimeric seemed sweet, but he hadn't really expected it to be directed towards him; he'd picked out enough details from what little Auguste had said about Aimeric to guess the noble didn't like the idea that he shared Auguste’s bed.    
  
He stared at the hand a moment before protocol kicked in. He was to serve Aimeric and he'd just been given an order. “Thank you, my lord,” he said, voice steady as he rested his hand in Aimeric's, touch light as he got to his feet using his own strength. He moved to the bench and settled on his knees on the cushion. “You're too kind.”

-

Even though Lukas appeared to obey him, Aimeric couldn’t bring himself to relax. He watched him warily, as a deer might watch a passing fox. If he’d been sent here, it was because he’d been instructed to serve him. To send him away would only bring Lukas greater shame, perhaps even ruin him completely. But letting him stay invited more than just the opportunity for rumours to blossom. There was no right answer.    
  
Whoever had conceived of this idea had sculpted it perfectly.    
  
“Maybe you’d like to go for a bath. You can do that,” he offered, stiffly, averting his gaze downward, long eyelashes shrouding green. In the depths of his memory, he recalled the moments after his own experiences, when it felt as though not a hundred years of scrubbing would take the shame from his skin. “You can say I told you to, if anyone asks.”

-

Lukas didn't respond immediately, studying Aimeric and wondering how someone like him had been caught up in a design to strike at the crowned prince. It was on the tip of his tongue to play coy, ask if it would help, but he knew from past experience it wouldn’t. He’d been a pet long enough to have gotten used to it, though it was something he hadn’t had to deal with since Auguste had taken an interest in him. He wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse.   
  
“Of course, my lord,” he said instead, standing with a faint smile. “I’m to serve you as I would the Prince. I wouldn’t dream of coming to him with another’s touch still on my skin. Shall I wait in your rooms, after?”

-

The words sank down his spine like fingers of ice, his lungs emptying sharply. “And how exactly is it that you serve the Prince?” All the calculated gentleness from his voice had evacuated, replaced instead by something that tasted much more bitter. Even as the words settled into silence, too late to take back, Aimeric knew he shouldn’t have asked.    
  
Well, if things were going to be frank between them, he had no reason to withdraw his suspicion behind an air of courtesy. “And, who sent you to serve me in the first place? I’ve never had a pet, nor shown any interest, not in you or any other.”

-

Lukas raised an eyebrow at the question, studying Aimeric in silence before glancing around. He didn’t see anyone nearby, though that didn’t mean someone wasn’t listening. He tilted his head, stepping closer, dropping his voice to a soft purr. “If how I serve the Prince is what interests you, I can explain in full detail in your bedroom. Unless you wish for me to service you here? I’m not used to performing in public, but that hardly matters to me.   
  
“As for who sent me, I am the King’s pet. I don’t make a habit of following orders from those beneath him.”

-

The sultry drop of his voice, the roll in his hips as he stalked nearer, was enough of an answer to both of his questions. Aimeric peeled backwards, away from the closeness, something like disgust flickering across his face before he employed the will to keep his expression passive.    
  
How had flirting come so easy with Auguste, as natural as breathing, but with anyone else, even the suggestion of sexuality made him close to vomiting?    
  
“I won’t require you in my rooms. You can go to the Prince. Say it’s my gift to him: the return of his pet. I wouldn’t deprive him of what he really wants, not for my sake.” Aimeric couldn’t help the bitterness from colouring his words, the hurt that bled into every syllable.  _ Shit. _ He turned away, breathing deeply. “Please take your leave of me.”

-

Lukas couldn’t hide his surprise as Aimeric flinched away from him, stepping back on instinct at finding his advances were unwanted. He pressed his lips together as he watched the noble. What the hell had this boy done to piss off the King’s brother? He was used to seeing the ruthlessness of the court, though this was on a different level than he was used to. Or maybe it was just that he was seeing it with his own eyes, the effects the whims of the rulers had on their victims, rather than being a victim himself.    
  
“Very well,” he said softly, closing his eyes as he took a breath; he’d been ordered to spend the entire evening with Aimeric, one way or another. “I shall return to my King, and let him know his gift has been rejected.” He stepped back and turned to leave.

-

He knew what the rejection meant. It was a defiance, on Aimeric’s part, to comply with whatever scheme this was, but it was not he who would suffer directly. He thought of his beloved’s hand seizing his jaw, fingers tightening to leave marks on his pale skin, that day he’d knelt for him, the day he’d lost Etienne.    
  
_ ‘Don’t disappoint me anymore, Aimeric. Is this how you meant to impress me? To prove that you’re worthy of me?’ _   
  
It was him. He had done this. It had his mark all over it. If only Aimeric understood why, then he might be able to counter it, but he didn’t.    
  
“Wait.” Aimeric bit his lip until it hurt. He couldn’t just send Lukas back into the jaws of the wolf. If the King’s brother wanted to play this game, then he had no choice but to dance to his tune. “No... no, you can serve me. I changed my mind. You can pour wine for me. That’s all. I... I’m not interested in anything else.”

-

Lukas nodded faintly, taking no satisfaction in Aimeric changing his mind. “Of course, my lord,” he said quietly. “I’ve been gifted to you until morning. I shall take my leave and bathe, and wait in your rooms to attend you, if that pleases my lord?” He almost expected Aimeric to prove how stubborn and foolish he could be and declare he would spend the entire evening in the gardens. It would be either a blessing or a curse, especially if Auguste finally sought them out like he knew the Prince was itching to do. 

If he was going to be pulled into this scheme, he intended to take the chance and find out what little he could; if nothing else, he could at least put Auguste’s mind at ease if he could say honestly that he spent the evening in his rooms and Aimeric had wanted nothing to with him. Especially if he seemed sound and healthy; he knew Auguste had been worried.

-

Aimeric did not bother with a reply, dismissing the pet with a nod and a wave of his hand. He waited until he was certain that Lukas had left him before he sank down onto the bench, fingers gripping tight at the edge of the stone. Now, what to do?    
  
If Lukas was the snake that Aimeric suspected he might be, then inviting him into his private quarters was a move that bordered on suicidal, especially when the patron of this particular plot remained a mystery. Then again, sending Lukas back could be worse. Facetiously, this was a gift from the king. He couldn’t refuse and still hope to have a shred of good reputation left to him.    
  
After a few moments of careful, measured breathing, he stood. He wouldn’t return to the party; better that the nobles be allowed to forget this particular entertainment and be distracted by other things. He would simply return to his rooms, think, and wait.

-

Lukas sighed, keeping to the shadows and the secret passages used only by the pets and the servants as he made his way to the baths. They were thankfully empty, all the other pets preoccupied with the festivities and entertainment. He stepped into the hot water, gritting his teeth with a stifled hiss at the sting between his legs, and a duller ache on his side. Only now that he was alone and in decent lighting did he notice the bruise forming just beneath his ribs from his fight, pressing his fingers to it with a wince before turning his attention away when he was satisfied it was only superficial.    
  
He cleaned himself as quickly as he dared, stomach twisting at the hint of blood that came away on the cloth. Thankfully, he wouldn’t see Auguste tonight; he’d have a little time to heal before the Prince could get a chance to ask the extent of the damage done. He scrubbed his face clean and found a mirror, reapplying the dark lines around his eyes, doing what he could to cover the bruising, though little of the makeup matched his darker skin.    
  
Once he’d dressed in the simple cloth, he made his way through the passages again until he reached Aimeric’s rooms, slipping inside. He looked to see if Aimeric had already returned as he moved to tend the small fire in the fireplace.

-

“Do you feel better?”   
  
Aimeric’s voice was soft, deceptively steady, as he called out to greet the intruder. He sat on an embroidered chaise near the balcony, reclining, but his posture was the only thing about him that seemed relaxed. Every lace of his doublet and breeches were still tied tight, the braids in his hair freshly woven, flashes of white scalp visible between folds of chestnut.    
  
Lukas seemed to be moving a little easier, at least, and that was a relief that he wasn’t aware that he sought until he laid eyes on him, skin flushed from the heat of the water. Even if the ache was still fresh, Aimeric knew first hand how good it felt to bathe after being fucked. “You don’t have to do that; or call me ‘my lord’. Just pour my wine for me when my cup grows empty, sit or stand as you please. That’s all.”

-

Lukas paused as Aimeric came into view, noting the change in him from the gardens. It seemed they’d both composed themselves, though he doubted that would be a benefit for either of them. He nodded faintly, spotting the wine and picking it up on the way to the chaise. He ensured Aimeric’s glass was full before setting it aside, snatching a cushion from the other end of the chaise and dropping it to the floor nearby.   
  
He sank down to his knees on it, irritated he was reduced to kneeling properly when he preferred to sit or sprawl. He let out a slow breath and relaxed as much as he dared, not sure if he expected the night to pass in silence between them or to be reduced to a dance of words in order to protect Auguste as much as he possibly could.

-

This wasn’t exactly what Aimeric had expected. Lukas seemed almost tame, timid, reluctant to speak. The thought occurred that perhaps Lukas was just as suspicious of Aimeric as he was of him. An amusing notion, and a deliberate one. Why force the two of them together if it was going to be anything other than torturous, guarded silence unless one of them broke their composure?    
  
For a while, Aimeric’s eyes remained on his book, flicking through the pages idly. Truthfully, his interest in literature was only in passing: he much preferred to ride and all that came with it, and to spar, though at that endeavour he was less accomplished. Too short, too slight, Etienne had chided him once with his hand in his hair. That had been when he had been nine years old. Since then, little had changed.    
  
He nursed his wine slowly, very slowly, only taking a small sip now and again to wet his mouth. The wine itself was watered, a variety he knew to be very light, and even a bottle a night was hardly enough to get him drunk. Strangely, however, this night, he seemed to be feeling the effects.    
  
At first, just a heat, prickling at his skin, stifling within the tight confines of his laces. Aimeric shifted, raising a hand to itch uncomfortably at his collar, finding with horror that his limbs felt heavy, weighed down by some invisible force that now thudded through his veins.    
  
He narrowed his eyes at the words on the pages, frustrated as he began to see the letters blur together.

-

Lukas closed his eyes as silence filled the space between them, steadying his breathing and willing his body to relax a bit more, somehow certain Aimeric would stay true to his words and at least not request service from him. He kept part of his focus on the sounds - the turning of a page, the rustle of cloth as Aimeric sipped his wine, the rush of air when a breeze passed through the balcony doors. He could hear the festivities below, chatter and laughter and muffled sounds of pleasures taken in the gardens.    
  
He sensed the change in Aimeric when he shifted, lifting his head and opening his eyes as Aimeric reached for his collar. He narrowed his eyes as he noticed the hint of color in his cheeks, a sickened sort of dread curling down his spine when he saw the way Aimeric’s pupils were blown. He pushed to his feet, snatching the glass of wine and taking the two steps to the balcony to splash the contents against it, moving back into the light to look at the glass.    
  
“You’ve been drugged,” he said, voice tight as he saw the familiar residue. He’d seen the effects of it, when pets and masters alike indulged in it, and he slanted a wary look to Aimeric. He moved to find a pitcher of water and fresh glass, making sure both were safe before offering it to Aimeric. Apparently, someone had anticipated they would need a bit of  _ help _ to fall into bed together and had made sure they had it.

-

“Drugged?” The word fell heavy and slurred from Aimeric’s lips, his eyes widening in horror as he watched Lukas move as if in slow motion.    
  
Unsteady, the young noble shoved himself to his feet, all pretence of civility falling away like flakes of old paint, crumbling into dust. “You drugged me?” Aimeric backed away, one step, then another, until his back made sudden contact with the post of his bed. His usually pale, white cheeks were flushing crimson, and now that he stood, he was beginning to feel something else.    
  
Curls of pleasure, slow and insidious, lacing their way around his thighs. It was revolting as much as it was enticing.    
  
Now, Aimeric was beginning to truly panic. “What’s happening to me? No-, don’t touch me. Just tell me what’s going on!”

-

Lukas blinked at the accusation, and then again, a spark of indignant anger in his chest that he shoved away as Aimeric backed away from him. As if he were... afraid. He stopped in his advance, holding the water as Aimeric’s back hit his bed.    
  
“How could I have drugged you, my lord?” he asked, keeping his voice quiet though he made no attempt to hide the derision. “I was only just sent to you and you arrived before me.” He let out a slow breath, holding out the water without moving closer.    
  
“I suspect whoever is behind this wanted to ensure you took advantage of me, my lord.” He paused and let out another slow breath through his nose. “Might I suggest you breathe? And lie down, before you fall to the floor. I have no plans to hurt you."

-

He had felt this before, he realised, this very feeling. He had told him it would be their secret; it made it hurt less; it made it feel nicer; it was a drink for adults and wasn’t he, at ten, as beautiful and well-made as any boy he’d ever seen. Aimeric would remember his first tart taste of the wine as it his clogged in his throat. Bitter. He’d hated it. But he had swallowed it anyway, eager to please the man who stroked his hair and told him he was lovely.    
  
Aimeric jerked away, body twisting as he attempted to put some kind of physical barrier between himself and his attacker. His breath tore out in shreds, fingers gripping to the bedpost so hard that his nails dug into wood.    
  
“Stay away from me! Don’t come any closer, don’t...” But Aimeric could already feel his mind slipping, fading, panic slowly replaced instead by rhythmic aches of desperate, terrified pleasure.    
  
“Get out. Don’t speak of this to anyone. Hide yourself in Auguste’s rooms and tell the King you spent the night here. I’m commanding you to do it, so do it!”

-

Lukas watched Aimeric as the sickened feeling in his gut intensified. He’d seen this kind of reaction before, in the new pets that came through each passing season. To see it in a noble, a high born... A lesser man may have taken pleasure in it, to see the tables turned, a master getting what he deserved, but Lukas felt only sympathy and wondered if there would ever be an end to the destruction caused by a few men. Or perhaps only one in particular.    
  
He moved into the bedroom long enough to set the water on the bedside table before taking his leave. A peek out of the door confirmed a guard in the hall, and while he was far enough away to not be too suspicious, Lukas was paranoid enough now to be sure he’d been sent to keep an eye on Aimeric’s room. He sighed and moved to the sitting room, sure Aimeric was too far under the drug by now to notice, and he’d be gone at the first light of dawn. He lowered himself onto a chaise, watching the flames of the fire in silence and trying not to listen too hard for any sounds from the bedroom.

-

Aimeric lay on the bed for a long time, gazing at the canopy, listening to the sound of his heavy breaths, remembering. A bearded face, hot words dripping like venom into his ear as he clenched in pain, and the resistance shoved, callous, demanding, wanting, forcing him apart, ripping him apart.    
  
Fingers curled into the silk bed covers, tangling them tight into his fist. No, he didn’t want this, had never wanted it. He tossed his eye to the side, eyes opening a crack as a breeze from the balcony snuck past the curtains to brush against his cheek, tender as the hand of a lover. Refreshing and cool against his boiling skin; the scent of flowers was heavy in it. Yes, his balcony overlooked the gardens. They’d walked there together. He’d asked him to ride with him.    
  
His hands were slow and clumsy as he worked at the laces of his breeches, but he was unhurried, doing it as he imagined  _ he _ might.  _ He _ wouldn’t rush anything. He would undress him carefully, he would murmur his name against his thigh. He would tell him how beautiful he looked, coming undone for him. When he finally uncurled the last lace, his hands would be gentle. He would kiss him. Aimeric would be able to feel the callouses on his palm from years spent training with a sword. He would smell of sweat, and horse, and sex, and man, and warmth and everything that Aimeric had ever wanted.    
  
When his name found its way to Aimeric’s lips, it felt like his lips were shaped just to say it.

-

Lukas was just drifting into the state that bordered on sleep when he heard Aimeric moving, the world outside seeming to have finally calmed, or at least moved indoors to more private areas. Outside of the occasional stir of the wind and snap of a log in the dying fire, the world was still and quiet, as if it held its breath. If he hadn’t known better, he might have believed this, too, was planned - the sound of Aimeric breathing that name carried to his ears.    
  
Would that he could have escaped earlier, or lingered in the baths and never made his way here in the first place, but that would have been noted, too, and he couldn’t risk something worse being done to Auguste in retaliation. He buried his face in a cushion, throwing an arm over the back of his head, and willed himself to relax, breathing deepening as he struggled to fall asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

When Aimeric finally woke, dawn had come and gone, shafts of golden light filtering their glow onto the marble. Bird song drifted past the curtains, idly, as though even they were rousing themselves late. He remembered last night; he knew he should move, leap to his feet, assess the damage. Slowly, hissing at the ache in his shoulder as he moved to support his weight with it, Aimeric sat up. At least he’d managed to remove his breeches without tearing. The laces on his doublet hadn’t survived the drug so well.    
  
The drug. An Akielon fancy; he'd heard of it before. Aimeric sighed deeply, sinking forward to press his forehead against the bare skin of his knee, eyes slipping closed. Whoever had contrived to send Lukas to him, had intended for them to couple together, too. What end that might serve, Aimeric couldn’t even begin to imagine. To hurt Auguste? Was that all? But Auguste had no enemies, none that he knew of.    
  
But then, what about the letter, the one sent to Etienne? Someone had to have written it, someone who knew his hand, or at least had access to enough correspondence to craft a convincing forgery. The contents of the letter he would likely never know, but it had been bad enough to inflame Etienne into coming straight to Arles; and what was more, stirred in him a hatred for Auguste in particular.    
  
He knew. Aimeric  _ knew _ who it was. For years, it had been him. 

Had he been brought to the Palace for this reason alone? To be moved like a chess piece, manipulated into carrying out some plot in which he had to remain ignorant?    
  
There was a knock at the door. The soft, deferential coo of a servant. Aimeric swallowed hard, the hollow in his chest an empty, freezing cavern that no breath could fill.    
  
“Yes. Tell him I’ll come to him as soon as I’m dressed.”

-

Lukas woke before the sun, resisting the urge to check on Aimeric and make sure he was okay and instead slipping out without a sound. If Aimeric woke to him standing over his bed, it would only make things worse, for both of them he was sure. He made his way to the hidden passages, breathing a sigh of relief as he reached the baths without seeing anyone other than a few servants. He bathed, relieved when the pain of the night before had eased into a lingering ache.    
  
He’d been given no orders on what to do after, but he suspected going straight to Auguste would hurt him more in the future than if he waited for Auguste to seek him out. So he made his way to Laurent’s rooms instead, unsure what drove him except the knowledge that out of anyone he knew and trusted within these walls, Laurent would be the only one who could use the information without exposing his hand. He’d watched Laurent since he arrived here six years ago and knew how sharp his mind was, sharper than he let on even when he decided to use his tongue.    
  
He stopped at the door, waiting for him to be announced and let inside. He dropped to his knee a few feet away, watching the floor as a servant attended Laurent. “My Prince, might I have a word? In private.”

-

Aimeric fled to the same place he always had when he didn’t know what else to do.    
  
“Silver, easy,” the mare tossed her head, grumbling in answer, as she dipped her nose down to butt gently against his chest. Aimeric sat on the stable floor, in velvets and all, and smiled as with a click of her huge limbs she brought herself nearer. It wasn’t quite the same as back at Fortaine, when he would come to Silver to hide. There, the stables were much smaller and the bustle of activity much less; he could spend hours just sitting there, murmuring softly to his mare, crying, laughing, reading to her.    
  
Aimeric had never thought he would miss Fortaine when he had left for Arles. In fact, he’d been glad to see it disappear behind the horizon, or so he told himself. He was leaving a boy, travelling to Arles to become a man. His beloved was there, and he’d promised him that they could be together if he aided him while the Akielon visited. It had all seemed so easy, back then. Damn it, he should have known...   
  
The sounds of a small commotion caused Silver to raise her head abruptly, ears flicking toward the disturbance, the mutterings of a whinny brushing through her throat. Aimeric’s brow knit together as he pushed himself up to his feet, dusting off his hands on the back of his breeches. He was certain that he’d heard his name, being called, but couldn’t be sure.    
  
“I’ll see you later, Silver. We’ll go to the ruins again soon, I promise.” There was no time to grab her a handful of grain, so he scratched her on the nose instead, not glancing back when he heard the worried pitch of her neigh follow his footsteps out into the yard.    
  
When he emerged, several white faces turned toward him.    
  
“My Lord Aimeric, you’ve been called to the throne room at once.”

-

It was only after breakfast, when Auguste returned to his rooms after his uncle made a passing remark about a tear in his clothing, that he noticed something off. The doors to his wardrobe were ajar, though he was sure it was simply a mistake from a new servant, and moved to close them himself. He couldn’t help the instinct to glance inside, and froze as the small hook just inside the door was bare. The hook where he kept the golden necklace that had been his mother’s, the delicate shape of a dragonfly with gossamer silver wings. He opened the doors further with a frown, but it hadn’t fallen inside, or on the floor.    
  
He turned, about to summon a servant to ask if it’d been taken for polishing, when a servant stepped inside.   
  
“Your Highness! Is everything alright?”   
  
“My mother’s necklace. Have you seen it?”   
  
The servant’s eyes widened. “No, Your Grace. I’ll look into it at once!” She turned and hurried out of the room.    
  
Auguste’s frown deepened as he changed shirts and found no tear in the cloth, unease twisting in his chest which only grew when he noticed the commotion in the throne room. He watched Laurent sidle up to him, placing a hand on his arm just as Lukas was brought in, a guard on each arm, and shoved to the floor.    
  
“They’re investigating a thievery. Keep your mouth shut, you’ll just make it worse.”   
  
Auguste snapped his mouth shut, grinding his teeth as he walked to the dais beside his brother.

-

The King’s brother was already sitting in evidence, his expression grave as he watched Lukas’ slow journey through the throne room, as every pair of eyes did. Aimeric himself was astounded, barely able to keep the shock from showing plainly on his face. He knew enough from the whispers at his sides that he had been accused of theft; but what had he stolen, and when? Had the entire charade with the drug and the serving been a ruse?    
  
He barely dared to breathe as the guards stopped near the throne, curtailing his flinch as Lukas was thrust painfully to the floor, hard enough to bruise bone. Aimeric fidgeted with the lace on his sleeve, his breathing catching as he flicked his gaze toward his beloved and took in the look on his face.   
  
This was going to go badly for Lukas, and just like last night when he’d been forced into the ring, Aimeric could do nothing but stand by and watch.   
  
His beloved did not bother with pleasantries. “We found this-” From the folds of his clothing the councillor produced a gold chain Aimeric had never seen before, adorned prettily with some insect or dragonfly, finely made for certain to even a naïve eye, Aimeric could tell at this distance. Lukas had stolen this?    
  
“-in your chambers. To steal from the Royal family is bad enough, but to betray so utterly the trust of one who favoured you; that is a grave thing. Even if the crime can be forgiven, that flaw of character cannot.”

-

Auguste tensed as he saw the necklace, fingers white where they gripped his seat, his jaw aching from gritting his teeth. No. There was no way. Lukas would never... He forced his eyes to Lukas, saw the confusion on his face before his expression closed off completely.    
  
Lukas kept his eyes on the necklace as he straightened, ignoring the ache of the bruise in his side and the cuffs that were bound too tight on his wrists. Was this another ploy to hurt Auguste, or just an extension of the first? He realised with a start that if he were found guilty of this, he’d likely be hanged, at best. At worst, he’d be thrown to the streets with his fingers cut off. Thievery might have been a mild offense, but for a pet to steal from the very royal family he served... He swallowed hard, refusing to give in to the temptation to look at Auguste. “I didn’t steal it,” he said, voice steady despite the rapid pulse of his heart. “I’ve not even been in Prince Auguste’s rooms since the night before last, and it was there when I left.”

-

“Is that so?” His beloved’s lips curved up at the corner, a benign smile that looked like it was tinged with regret, but immediately Aimeric was tensing, standing straighter. That smile was dangerous. Fangs were already poised at Lukas’ neck, ready to strike.    
  
“You’ve had your chance to be truthful and to beg forgiveness, I think. There will be no more mercy.” The councillor’s hand gestured lazily to his left, where Auguste was seated on the other side of his father’s empty throne, the movement pregnant with meaning. In one languid swoop, he had removed Auguste as a foil to his plans, whatever they were. “There is a witness.”   
  
A murmur spread through the room like an ominous gust of a cold breeze, but Aimeric felt it most keenly.  _ Damn it, no.  _ Every single muscle and bone and fibre of his being screamed for escape; he knew what was coming. He could smell it in the air, see it on his beloved’s face, even before he turned his blue eyes on him.  _ Shit. _   
  
“Aimeric?” The councillor’s hand extended, an offering, an invitation.    
  
What choice did he have?

-

Auguste bristled at the sound of Aimeric’s name, turning startled eyes on him. How could Aimeric have witnessed anything? But then, they’d been together all evening, hadn’t they? Had Aimeric set this up? Had he  _ agreed _ to this? Only Laurent’s hand, still resting lightly on his arm, kept him from shoving to his feet and demanding answers.    
  
“Did you go riding last night?” Laurent asked, voice calm as the unbroken water of a still lake.    
  
Auguste looked at him, equally amazed and irritated at his brother’s implacable resolve to show little emotion, but then, he didn’t have much stake in this, did he? “Yes,” he said tightly. He gritted his teeth again when Laurent merely nodded as though he’d suspected as much, turning his attention back to Lukas, unable to look at Aimeric.   
  
Lukas shifted at the sound of Aimeric’s name, taking a breath and bracing himself for whatever lie was about to come out of his mouth. How he could willingly go along with this after he’d been set up himself, dosed with those drugs... He must have been promised a very nice reward at the end of all this.

-

Aimeric didn’t dare to look anywhere but the floor as he stepped forward, feeling the galling weight of hundreds of eyes now fixed on him, every mutter silenced as they waited. On the surface, he seemed calm, his face impassive, green eyes empty of any emotion in particular. Almost too casual, he knew it would seem forced, but there was naught else he could offer, not when his pulse was screaming in his ears, blocking out all thought.    
  
Now, he had to think quickly. Obviously, the councillor had some greater plan in mind that he was somehow meant to understand without conferring. It occurred to him now just how much of a risk the man was taking; how easy it would be, now, for Aimeric to expose him completely, every rotten part of him. The schemes, the manipulation, the secrets hidden away in the dark of his room in Fortaine, the bed that now lay empty.    
  
No. He couldn’t. And he knew that. Aimeric’s hand tightened into a fist at his side, loathing him with every beat of his heart, but not more than he loathed himself for what he knew he must do next.    
  
“Last night, after Lukas joined me in my room, I was given wine laced with some type of Akielon drug, and-”

  
“Wait, this drug- you know of it? Explain?” Aimeric could feel his smirk, the joy of a cat as the mouse squirmed helpless beneath his paw. 

His cheeks flushed pink. “...It’s used for pleasure, to enhance and extend it, but in high doses it affects the senses too; dulls them. It makes... it makes things hurt less.”

Behind him, he heard the flutter of scandalised voices. Let them imagine what they would. Every moment of this was a new torture, and some petty humiliation over a noble’s imagination of what an aroused Aimeric might look like was the least of it.

The councillor nodded, as if he had known and understood all along, and he did, the bastard, and Aimeric’s fingernails sheared so hard into his palm he thought he might break skin.    
  
Now came the hard part, the invention. “...I managed to take myself to bed, but before I fell asleep, I heard Lukas attempt to leave my quarters. When I asked him what was happening to me, he told me just to rest, to lie down and drink some water and forget he was there. When I next woke, he had disappeared, without my leave.”

-

Lukas curled his fingers into fists, anger pulsing hot through his veins and coloring his cheeks, but somehow, he held his tongue. He thought it might have something to do with the taste of blood in his mouth. He knew what was wanted from him - indignation, shouting, a plea of innocence and mercy,  _ begging.  _ He wouldn’t play the game, even if it made him look guilty. He knew there was no one who would speak for him. Auguste couldn’t, not without being painted as a pitiable prince trying to save the only pet he’d ever taken an interest in, without being cast as weak, lead along by a pet who would bite its own master’s hand.   
  
“A question, uncle,” Laurent said, voice sharp and clear in the pause that followed. He pretended not to see the look of annoyance cast his way, remaining in his seat though he did remove his hand from Auguste’s arm. “How did Aimeric witness the theft, if he was... indisposed?”    
  
Lukas sucked in a breath of shock at the sound of Laurent’s voice, shoulders sagging ever so slightly in relief, and for the first time since he’d been grabbed by the guards and put in irons, he felt a glimmer of hope that he might escape this with his life and limbs after all.

-

Now every pair of eyes honed onto the young prince, collected as ever, sparring with his uncle as if this debate was of no great import, an idle conversation over dinner. To his credit, the councillor seem more or less unperturbed by the interruption, treated it as though Laurent had always been part of the conversation, but Aimeric knew him well enough to notice subtle changes.    
  
A slight twitch of tension near his mouth, the flicker of a frown. He hadn’t anticipated resistance. Aimeric could only imagine how this would unfold with Laurent now entering the fray, but he could imagine it would lead nowhere good.    
  
“He did not need to witness it: clearly this pet conspired to his utmost to ensure there  _ would be no _ witnesses. He was unaccounted for during the time in which the necklace was taken, and the necklace was found hidden in his quarters.” If Aimeric thought he had escaped their notice, he was wrong, for the councillor was quick to turn his attention back towards him. “And one cannot forget our poor Aimeric; he was also been wounded by this. Drugged, in his own quarters. It’s simply too perfect. It would have been the perfect crime, had the necklace itself not been found.”   
  
Lukas’ fate felt complete. Aimeric swallowed hard, his heart finally betraying him at last as he looked towards the pet, prostrated on the floor on his knees.

-

Laurent fell silent a moment as he let his uncle weave more of the story, watching Aimeric’s face and wondering how far he was willing to go with this, though there was only so much more damage he could do, having admitted he was in his rooms all night. Drugged. “Yes, it’s almost too perfect for a pet to have contrived it on his own. Especially with no prior warning that he would even have this chance,” he said, thoughtfully, lifting his head where he’d had it resting on his fist.    
  
He sat up and leaned forward as though with interest. “Tell me, Aimeric, did Lukas prepare the wine for you? Or was it ready and waiting when you returned to your rooms last night?” It may have been Lukas’ saving grace that he’d come to him that morning with his suspicions, and that Laurent ensured he had recounted every moment from the end of his fight to entering his rooms after leaving Aimeric.

-

Aimeric flinched when the question was posed to him, his arms tensing by his sides as he stalled himself from cowering. A war of words with the Prince he could not win, especially when he was basically blind, unable to guess where he might stumble and fall. If only his beloved had told him of this plot before he hatched it, then..    
  
No. If only the plot had not been hatched it all. If only Aimeric had somehow excluded himself. If only he was brave enough to speak his mind and say that he knew that Lukas was not the culprit. Who it was, he could not say, but the artisan behind this crime was seated on the dais, staring hard, waiting.    
  
He surprised himself with the steadiness of his voice as he spoke, “I don’t remember the time I spent in my quarters, but in the gardens where he found me at first, I told him that I wanted him to pour for me.” He would say no more than that. Keeping his explanations short reduced the gaps that Laurent might snake his way through.    
  
The councillor waved his hand, not annoyed, but obviously tired of this affair. He made a face as if there was something sour on his tongue, distasteful. Aimeric knew the sensation well. “This is farcical, Laurent. You can play at judge some other time, can’t you see how distressing this is for your brother? Lukas had the means, the motive, and the opportunity. He hasn’t even attempted to claim his own innocence. Guilty.”

-

Lukas closed his eyes as what little hope he’d grabbed onto was snuffed out with that single word. Just like that, he would lose everything he’d managed to build for himself here. He finally lifted his gaze to Auguste, his heart wrenching at how pale and stricken he looked, and prayed he at least wasn’t sentenced to hang, in case it planted the seeds of hatred in the prince. He almost mouthed  _ I’m sorry, _ but he didn’t dare, in case it was seen as an admission of guilt.    
  
Laurent narrowed his eyes at Aimeric, the first hint of true distaste for him coiling in his gut. If Aimeric had even a shred of decency he’d have simply answered the question. “I’m certain my brother would agree the truth circumvents even the most distressing of situations,” he said firmly. “That is, after all, the promise we give as rulers, is it not? A fair trial?” He sat back in his seat, listening to the murmured agreement of those gathered.    
  
He turned his attention back to Aimeric, raising an eyebrow as he tilted his head. “I’ll ask again, Aimeric, in simpler terms,” he said with a benevolent smile. “Was Lukas in your rooms when you arrived? And if not, who prepared your wine? Surely you can remember that much, as the wine is what was drugged, was it not?”

-

Aimeric opened his mouth, then closed it, struck dumb. Shit, what should he say? He realised in that moment he’d stumbled, his eyes washing over the dais, from Laurent’s cool, smiling interrogation to the frozen expression on his beloved’s face and the threat that stirred there. “I... I don’t-” He had to breathe. He had to keep himself calm.    
  
His heart was hammering so hard inside his chest he was sure the beat could be heard in the gardens. He allowed himself a moment, and then composed himself, praying it had not been a fatal error. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. I told you.” Minute by minute, he was becoming more unsteady. He felt faint, the taste of bile acrid on his tongue. “I only remember waking up, and finding him gone. That’s it. That’s all.”    
  
His voice had a new edge, he realised. He was pleading, and his eyes were not on Laurent.   
  
The councillor only stared back in silence, lips thinned in a tense line.

-

Laurent raised an eyebrow, letting the feeble response hang in the air a moment, as if expecting Aimeric to remember something, anything else at all. He leaned forward again with a slight frown as he finally looked to his uncle. “I fail to see how Aimeric is a suitable witness to anything, if he can hardly even remember reaching his rooms last night. Perhaps he was drugged at dinner, by any of a handful of servants. He did seem to leave rather abruptly, did he not?”    
  
He pushed to his feet, turning his attention to Lukas. “And since your verdict of guilty rests entirely on the assumption that whoever drugged him is also responsible for the thievery, I fail to be convinced that Lukas is responsible for either, but rather as much of a victim as Aimeric.”

-

The world had drawn to a stop, the whip raised and drawn. Aimeric had known it was over from the moment Laurent began to speak, though to the words he hardly paid any heed. All of his attention was focused on the councillor’s face. Despair crawled in his stomach like it was filled with insects, snaking up his gullet, filling his mouth. He wanted to vomit.    
  
“Indeed.” The strength of his eyes on him felt like a brand, searing through his flesh, “Aimeric is not as reliable as he seems. Perhaps fixation with the Crown Prince and the effects of the drug has muddied his judgement. His testimony is not as trustworthy as it first appeared. Forgive me.” 

Aimeric’s throat seized, his heart stopped; it was a miracle his legs did not crumble beneath him then and there. It was over, he realised. The plot had collapsed, and it was all his fault. He had failed him, and made him look a fool in front of the entire court at best, suspect in the crime at worse.   
  
The councillor raised his hand, gesturing towards the guards, a signal to release Lukas from his bonds. “As you say, my Prince. This is why you will make an excellent councillor someday, to be sure. Lukas walks free, for now. But I would advise he remain under close watch inside the palace until we discover the true culprit.”

-

Lukas’ heart thudded painfully in his chest as he realised Laurent had... saved his life. He sank forward as his hands were finally freed, prostrating himself before them. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he said, voice only a little shaky. “Forgive me, for drawing the attention of someone who wished to attack the royal family. I swear on my life, I would never attempt to harm Prince Auguste in any way.”   
  
Laurent sank back into his seat, stretching his leg out and glancing over those gathered in the crowd. “I believe you, Lukas,” he voice firm and carrying. “You have served my family well in your years here. I find it hard to believe anyone would choose you to take the fall for this, when you have proven your loyalty time and again.”   
  
Auguste let out a shuddering breath as he realised it was over, and that Lukas was not sentenced as guilty after all. He released his death-grip on his seat, flexing his fingers as blood flowed back into them. Laurent’s fingers on his arm again stopped the instinct to go to Lukas before it had even truly formed and he forced another deep breath. He had to be careful, if his uncle was still determined to try and be rid of Lukas. “Take him to my rooms and place a guard on the door. Should anything else go missing, we’ll have two suspects,” he said, forcing a wry smile as he stood, stepping towards his uncle and holding his hand out for his mother’s necklace.

-

The minutes that followed passed by in a strange, drunken blur. Aimeric watched as the king’s brother passed over the necklace with only a moment’s hesitation with an almost apologetic smile, but did not hear the words passed between them. In fact, it was as if all sound had disappeared from the world completely, replaced instead by the thud of his heart and wrenching screech of fingernails clawing down the stone wall of his bedroom, back in Fortaine.    
  
He didn’t have the heart to look to Auguste, knowing what he’d find there would only reduce him to his knees.  _ You were my escape, once. _ It hurt. It hurt so badly, tore a new void in his chest so vast and so deep he was sure it was a chasm that could never be filled.  _ I hope you remember me as I was on that first night, and not like this. That is who I wish I could have been for you, Auguste.  _ It was over before it had ever begun.    
  
When his eyes turned back on him, Aimeric thought he would faint, then and there, the threat in his eyes floored him so completely. He had failed him utterly. Aimeric could see his lips moving, but only stared at him numbly, unresponsive.    
  
There was a hand on his shoulder, so sudden that he flinched back violently, chest rising and falling with a flood of frantic breaths as the guard blinked back at him, as did a hundred other eyes, in shock. He took another step back, seized with a mad fear. They were blaming him instead, they were going to kill him, they were going to do all of the horrible things that the King’s brother had said would happen, and-   
  
“Aimeric.” From beyond the gloom, a single voice rang clear, and it made his bones turn to ice. It was a command. “Aimeric is obviously not himself. Escort him back to his quarters and see that he stays there until he is well.”

-

Lukas stood as he was ordered to the Prince's rooms, hoping he'd have at least some respite. He'd had his fill of plots and being used - enough to last him a lifetime, however short that might end up being. He glanced up as Auguste approached him, a thrill of shock going down his spine as he handed over the necklace, though he realised a moment later, it was a show of faith, more for the crowd than for him.    
  
Auguste’s fingers closed over Lukas’, the necklace settled in Lukas’ palm. “Why did you hold your silence?” he asked softly.   
  
Lukas looked up with a faint smile. “For the same reason you did.” He tensed as he heard the commotion behind them, turning to see a guard near Aimeric, saw the fear in his eyes, and felt a stab of sympathy. He glanced to Laurent, saw the calculating expression, and wondered if he actually had a chance at finding who was behind this before the next strike came. No, he knew who was behind it, as did Laurent. The question was why, and how to prove it. “Your Highness,” he murmured, brushing his fingers against Auguste’s wrist before stepping back, turning to walk out of the room without deigning to look at any of the others.

-

The walk back to his rooms was like something out a dream; a nightmare. He remembered footsteps, the distant sound of voices. Faces. Some glared, some smiled, some turned away as one might from a rotting corpse of some animal. All were contorted, stretching and changing, a grotesque gallery of stares. It felt like they followed him, every step of that long walk, until, almost suddenly, he was left alone, the door shutting behind him.    
  
The quarters were empty, as he’d left him. All evidence of the wine from the night before had been taken, the jug and the emptied cup both. The bed was still unmade, the clothes from last night which he’d discarded cast around it like fallen leaves.    
  
Panic crept in on him slowly at first, bubbling and boiling, even though he felt cold from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes.    
  
Everything was lost.    
  
“Etienne.” The voice that wrenched the word from his throat didn’t sound like his own, distorted with tears. “Etienne, I’m sorry. You were right.”


End file.
